A/N: I'm eventually publishing this, because it's been a while, and I wanted to let myself known eventually. Lina, if you read this, I am beyond sorry to have taken so long. You're the best, darling; thank you for such an inspiring prompt!
Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year to you all, my sweethearts!
[Reviews are cherished, as you all know it.]
Oh, and I own none of these beautiful souls, of course.
VERNAL EQUINOX
'Winter lives in my bones. It's all I've ever known.' But one winter, things change.
PART I
December 1904.
She loathed Cora Crawley.
Deep within her chest, Sarah O'Brien knew she was being irrational, for she had not even met the young countess yet; she ought to allow her the benefit of the doubt. Of course, she didn't expect much more than another haughty, authoritative, empty-headed woman, with little care for anything else but herself. Surely, her lady's maid inner turmoils wouldn't matter much. Yet, Sarah had still a small spark of hope within herself that, maybe, she would be proven wrong.
However, at this precise moment, gathering her scarce belongings in a small, carpet bag, Sarah O'Brien had never hated her new mistress with more passion. Obviously, she was expected to be grateful for the position; and she was. It was incredibly rare for a woman as young as herself to be chosen as a lady's maid, for a countess, no less. Yet, even her pride seemed unable to soothe the pain she felt, in any way.
Angry at herself for such a shameful display of emotion, Sarah wiped her cheeks with a shaky hand, looking at the ceiling in a vain attempt to stop the tears from rolling along her already drenched cheeks. She knew this was her chance to seize, yet the very prospect of abandoning her family, her home, in order to devote herself to a woman she knew nothing about –a bloody American, above all-, sounded rather displeasing. Moreover, Sarah was well-aware that her young mistress would probably despise her from the very minute she would meet her. Everyone seemed to do so, after all, so why should a countess be any different?
She left her small house in haste, slamming the heavy, wooden door behind her. She began walking rapidly, her brown, woollen coat tightly wrapped around her body. Her only reminder of her late mother, a beige, knitted scarf, was loosely tied around her pale, slender neck. Not once did she turn back to take a last glance at her childhood home, her small figure vanishing in the snow and thick fog almost instantly. The cold bite of the wind caused the wet trail of her tears to sting her skin even further. She suddenly let out a distressed sob, kicking the gravel of the path away with the tip of her boot.
At the end of a short alley, a black carriage was awaiting her. Surrounded by the white mist of the evening air, the whole picture was highly reminiscent of a gruesome omen, and Sarah found herself thinking, with a bitter, strangled laugh, that it seemed oddly apt. After having put her bag under the seat, she climbed within the carriage, and attempted to settle against the admittedly comfortable bench seat, her small hat put aside. The new maid had been told the journey would be long, so little did she fight to resist the tiredness that began overtaking her whole, shortly after the departure. In her last minutes of awareness, she attempted to make a mental list of all the things she would miss, once she would be imprisoned in the threateningly vast Downton Abbey.
The last thing she pictured, before abandoning herself utterly to the tantalizing, stormy depth of slumber, was the old, yellowed and greatly damaged framed picture, which she had packed with her few dresses, neatly tucked between two scarves. It was the only picture she had ever owned where her whole family was depicted, even her beautiful mother, of whom she had but distant memories. At least, her mother would have been proud of her, had she still been alive, Sarah thought, before eventually drifting into sleep, oddly rocked by the repetitive movements of the carriage along the earthly, uneven path.
O'Brien eyes shot open as the carriage eventually came to a stop, abruptly ending the regular tremors which had kept the little woman asleep thus far. Rapidly, she smoothed the few creases of her chestnut coat, straightened her hat and tightened her scarf around her neck, feeling a wave of familiar warmth wash over her. For a second, it felt like her mother was by her side again, whispering reassuring words in her ear as she had always done in the past, and Sarah allowed herself a brief smile, before the door was pulled open, and she stepped out hesitantly, the whistle of the chilly wind replacing her mother's sweet voice.
She was first introduced to a certain Mr Carson, the mansion's butler: he was a tall, severe looking man, quite elegant in his own, stern way. Sarah's nervousness was such, that her palms were moist with sweat and, in order to take her mind off the terrible awe the place inspired, she boldly attempted to exchange a few, witty quips with the man walking by her side. The disapproving look he gave her in return was enough to silence her instantly. She pursed her lips into a thin line, suddenly convinced that friendship would never blossom between the butler and herself. Of course, they would probably tolerate one another, but it would never go much further than simple cohabitation.
Sarah was then introduced to the housekeeper, Mrs Hughes, a few minutes later. Their encounter was terribly brief, and when they parted, Sarah didn't quite know what to think of the older woman. She both admired her obvious skills and professionalism, yet was also very aware that the woman sounded overly loyal to the Granthams. She probably wouldn't be one to gossip with young Sarah, sharing a smoke under the courtyard porch. As she climbed the stairs as silently as she could, O'Brien pondered over the fact that, so far, this household cruelly lacked someone she could get along with; someone with a brain and thoughts of his own, who wouldn't be afraid to speak his very mind in her company.
She was still lost in her own thoughts, when she reached the door of her ladyship's chamber. A wave of sheer fright washed over her as she knocked timidly, utterly unaware of what she should expect to find awaiting her, on the other side of the wooden panel.
'Come in, please,' said a cheerful and unexpectedly soft voice from within the room. Sarah pushed the door open carefully, only to find a woman barely older than herself, comfortably nestled in an armchair, facing her with a genuine, sympathetic smile adorning her face. The young countess seemed rather tall and slender, her figure utterly gracious; she was clad in a flowing, light salmon dress completed by matching gloves. A pearl necklace was hanging between her breasts, the simplicity of the jewel only enhancing the elegance of the woman's face. She was pale and quite gorgeous, her smooth, pale skin reminding Sarah of these porcelain dolls she had always so ardently desired as a child.
Her raven-black, intricately tied curls seemed incredibly supple and silky to the touch; the maid could already feel the tip of her fingers tingling with desire to style them even more elegantly. However, the most beautiful feature of her new mistress was undoubtedly her round, sparkling, azure eyes, which gave her an expression of utter gentleness mixed with a sort of child-like amazement. All in all, she was rather stunning, Sarah decided. At least, she was greatly different to the scornful, spoiled woman Sarah had expected to encounter. The maid was about to clear her dry throat, as she kept on fiddling absentmindedly with the worn-out, leather handle of her carpet bag, when suddenly, her mistress broke the silence.
'Miss O'Brien?' Her ladyship looked hesitant, almost shy for no apparent reason; Sarah was a maid, so the countess was entitled to treat her however she pleased. 'It is O'Brien, isn't it?'
'It is, m'lady,' Sarah answered hastily, stumbling upon her words. She tried to give the other woman a heartfelt smile, but it seemed that the coldness had stiffened her muscles. She winced internally, her mouth curving into a smirk as genuine as she could muster at the very instant. 'It's an 'onour to be working for ye, Lady Grantham, if I may.'
The countess -who probably was no more than ten years older than herself, Sarah suddenly realised- responded with an even brighter smile; if she hadn't witnessed it herself, Sarah would have declared it impossible for her to do so. 'The pleasure is all mine, O'Brien. I must say that I took a brief glance at your references, and I am rather impressed. Such skill in somebody as young as you is very rare, and even more precious.'
The maid could feel her face flush instantly at her mistress' words. Of course, she had always been a rather proud woman, but having her talent directly acknowledged, especially by someone as distinguished as Lady Grantham, was a delightful pleasure she had hardly been prepared to. 'You are very kin', m'lady. I do 'ope my services will prove worthy of yer person.'
'I am quite sure they will, O'Brien,' Lady Grantham answered with a discrete giggle, the wings of her nose fluttering slightly as she did. Even when she laughed, her expressions remained utterly graceful and elegant, Sarah noted. Lord Grantham had apparently found quite a pearl in the young, American woman; Sarah just hoped he would be intelligent enough not to forget it after a few years. It happened so very often, after all.
'Would you mind beginning right now? I ought to be changed before luncheon. Of course, you might want to settle in first; I can have another maid called up in a minute, so-'
'It would be a pleasure, m'lady,' O'Brien cut through her mistress' inane ramblings, well-aware of how bold she was already being. Mr Hughes would probably have greatly disapproved such temerity, Sarah thought. Luckily, the countess seemed more amused than anything, the young woman noticed with a relieved sigh. 'Shall I undress you now?'
'Yes, please, O'Brien.'
Sarah's eyes all but widened at Lady Grantham's polite tone and words. She took a deep breath, resolute to conceal the nervous tremble of her hands, and moved closer to the slender woman, who had risen from her seat, presenting the tightened laces and knotted ribbons of the back of her dress to her maid. O'Brien's skilled fingers made quick work of the dress, letting the fabric pool around the countess' feet, before gently folding it, and putting it aside.
She then moved to unclasp her mistress' corset –for the one she currently wore was unsuitable for the crimson, satin dress which had been prepared before, and was laid over the covers of the large bed. However, as soon as the tip of the maid's fingers, calloused by her regular sewing and darning, all but brushed against Lady Grantham's creamy skin, the latter let out a high-pitched gasp, jerking away from Sarah's hands.
'Good god, O'Brien!' she said with a nervous laugh, her cheeks flushing as she stepped back towards her maid, 'Your hands are absolutely frozen!'
Sarah apologized profusely, attempting to warm her fingers by rubbing her hands together, blowing on them as she did so. She reached for the clasp again, and, this time, the countess merely repressed a brief shudder, before relaxing under the younger woman's soothing touch, her shoulders and neck seeming to lose their stiffness all of a sudden.
After a few minutes of silent ballet between the two women, the lady talked again. 'Do you like winter, O'Brien?'
'I guess I do, m'lady,' O'Brien answered after a few seconds. 'I do like it when it snows, even if it's a rather rare thing.' She was surprised to realise how easily the words had flowed to her mouth; it seemed that Lady Grantham's sweetness and honeyed tone had eventually managed to put her at ease. 'What 'bout ye?'
'I love it more than I can say. It has been my favourite season for as long as I can recall. The festivities make such a pleasant contrast with the rest of the year, don't you think? Not to mention the utter beauty of snow, as you mentioned.'
The countess talked quickly, with much enthusiasm, her ocean-coloured eyes searching for her maid's piercing gaze through the mirror. When their glances finally met, the countess gave her a small, lopsided smile, her eyelashes fluttering slightly in a very endearing fashion.
'Did it snow often in America, m'lady?' O'Brien asked with genuine curiosity, enjoying despite herself the conversation which seemed to flow so very naturally between the two women.
'More than you would believe,' Lady Grantham answered with a sad smile, her expression suddenly reflecting much melancholy. She met Sarah's gaze again, as the latter moved behind her, in an attempt to begin styling and pinning her hair up. The lady tilted her head to the side for the briefest moment, before turning in her seat until she came to face her maid, her hands reaching for the smaller woman's, her slender fingers suddenly clasping around her wrists gently.
'I was told not to mention it, but it doesn't feel right not to,' she said, her eyes boring into Sarah's, who held her breath for no apparent reason, awaiting her lady's words. 'I am utterly sorry, O'Brien. Sorry to have you torn apart from your home and family quite so abruptly, especially in such a season. If it had been left up to me, I would gladly have waited until after New Year's Eve to summon you, but the dowager countess insisted on having you transferred to Downton as early possible, And, believe me, it proved quite impossible to argue with her,'
Sarah was left speechless by her lady's unexpectedly caring words. In truth, she had taken great pain in splitting so early from her family, but oddly, with Lady Granthams' fingers clasped around her wrists, brushing her very skin absentmindedly; she didn't quite feel so lonely anymore. Before she could find the necessary strength to reply to her mistress, Lady Grantham was talking again.
'I know more than anyone what being forced to leave your peers feels like, and I am deeply sorry to have imposed you the same ordeal. I just hope we will manage to find a way past this, for I wish more than anything to make a friend out of you, O'Brien.' Lady Grantham took a deep breath, before continuing. 'My husband does not care much for me yet, and I do not know anyone in this land, except for the dowager, Rob- Lord Grantham, and yourself.'
She stopped abruptly, her eyes searching for O'Brien's reaction rather desperately. The latter, feeling treacherous tears beginning to prickle in the corner of her own eyes, answered promptly. 'There could be no greater pleasure for me than to become your confidant and- friend, m'lady.' The word felt odd, foreign in her mouth, and yet, when her gaze landed on her mistress's delicate face, only to discover her, wide-eyed, an incredulous yet heartfelt smile plastered upon her lips, she found herself quite eager to believe it herself.
A few minutes later, O'Brien was dismissed from her mistress' chamber, and begun wandering aimlessly along the corridors, repeating herself that she would necessarily come across the Servant's Hall sooner or later. As she descended the stairs slowly, Sarah found herself thinking that, with so caring a person as Cora Crawley for mistress, maybe her future life wouldn't eventually turn out quite as hard as she had expected.
PART II
December 1914.
Sarah O'Brien was a wretched woman.
Sat stiffly on the wooden bench of the backyard, her eyes prickling with the sting of the wind and the smoke of her cigarette, she was struggling not to let any tear give away her secret pain and anguish. She looked at the countryside in the distance; the green hills covered by a thick coat of snow, and felt a stab of sadness within her chest, when the image of her childhood cottage suddenly appeared in her mind. She missed it dearly, and yet, what she regretted the most wasn't even her family, or the comforting familiarity of a place she had known by heart, but the simplicity of these long-gone moments. She recalled a time when she had just been Sarah, not Miss O'Brien, a little girl with ridiculously grand dreams and an ambition like very few people of her age had. But things had changed since then, some for the best, of course, but most for the worst.
She did not really recall how she had become who she was today. What had transformed the bold, sharp-tongued young girl that she had once been, into this bitter, spinster and utterly lonesome woman? Sarah knew for a fact that she was disliked by most of the household, with the exception of Thomas; for it seemed that the sly and cunning footman had some genuine affection for her, for some mysterious reason. Of course, everyone was civil and respectful when addressing her, but there was no one she could even think about considering as a friend. She had believed for a few weeks that she had found a kindred spirit in the wife of Lord Grantham's valet, Vera Bates. However, it seemed that things were more than at odds between the two spouses, so she barely had any chance to develop her relationship with the other woman.
Then, there was Cora Crawley.
She had known from the very minute where Lady Grantham had tentatively spoken of a possible friendship flourishing between the two of them, that she ought to be extremely careful not to grow too strongly attached to her mistress. However, despite her efforts to keep her at arm's length, it seemed that the countess had nonetheless slowly grown on her. She scoffed all of the sudden, taking a deep puff of tobacco. How very euphemistic she could be, sometimes. Her affection for the countess ran extremely deep, and Sarah knew that the feelings she harboured for Lady Grantham were far, far worse than a genuine friendship or a simple closeness; for Sarah happened to have fallen helplessly in love with Cora Crawley.
It sounded utterly foolish, really, and yet there was nothing she could do to ignore her feelings. It seemed that she had abandoned her whole heart to the other woman years ago, when they were still both so young and naïvely optimistic. O'Brien had matured and grown since then, every day more resentful and embittered. However, nothing could ever alter her feelings for her mistress; no matter how lonesome or miserable she was in Downton, she would rather give up her whole life altogether, than even consider being torn apart from Lady Grantham.
She knew for a fact that her feelings never would or could be confessed, even less reciprocated; yet little did she mind. The short moments she spent in the countess' company were more than enough to give her life meaning and purpose; and Sarah revelled in the mutual fondness they shared, for she knew that this genuine affection was the closest she would ever come to love. Each of the smiles her ladyship seemed to keep for Sarah only, every time their fingers would lace together in an attempt to provide silent comfort, O'Brien realised there was no way out of this love. She was utterly doomed, cursed and blessed at the same time, and yet, had she ever had the chance, Sarah wouldn't have changed any of it.
Except for that horrendous August afternoon, where everything had collapsed. A pang of grief suddenly stabbed Sarah's chest, as she recalled the simple misunderstanding which had cause both their existences to plummet endlessly. The pain she had felt upon hearing the news of her imminent replacement for a younger, improved doppleganger, had crushed her very heart to the core, and the sense of treason, of deceit had felt so overwhelming and unbearable, that a wave of pure hatred had pervaded her, causing her to act upon her cruellest impulses. Out of herself, she had carelessly kicked the bar of soap under the tub, leaving the countess willingly unaware of the existing wet, slippery trail on the floor and, by doing so, she had murdered her love's unborn child.
She could never forgive herself, and she knew no matter how devoted and selfless she would act in the future, nothing would ever be enough to achieve her redemption. It was a burden she would have to carry even beyond the grave, the utter proof of her inherent malevolence. She let out a frustrated sigh, feeling a few burning tears dampen her cheeks. Suddenly, the bench on which she was sat creaked loudly, and she turned her head to the right, only to find Thomas, a cigarette clasped between his lips, slightly bluish by the cold, evening air. Promptly, she wiped the tears away, covering her sniffing with an exasperated sigh, which caused a little cloud of mist to escape her lips.
'What d'you want, lad?' she asked, trying to conceal her inner disruption with a detached, almost scornful tone. The footman was quite perceptive, and over the years, he had learnt to read Sarah's changing moods like an open book. She sometimes wondered whether he had already pinpointed the exact nature of her feelings for her ladyship. After all, they were the same; pining for the wrong people, and forever unable to share their grief with anyone, for they were all too-well aware that such a confession would only arouse disgust and rejection amongst their peers. So they kept silent, hiding their vulnerability behind a shell of sass and disdain.
'Well, don't ye sound awfully cheerful tonight,' he remarked with a half-smile. 'What has Lady G. done to upset ye this time 'round?' He proposed her a cigarette which she refused with a shake of her head.
'It's not about 'er. Not this time, at least.' He looked at her with doubtful eyes, tilting his head to the side as if to reassure her. Whatever Sarah was to tell him, he would keep to himself. The maid felt a wave of genuine appreciation for the young male wash over her, as she realised just how much of an ally the footman had proven to be so far. He was quite the partner in crime Sarah had always searched for, and if she were to be mushy, she would probably indulge herself to call him her friend. Because, in the end, wasn't he just that?
For a minute, she was tempted to tell him everything. To confess her forbidden passion for a woman she would never be worthy of, to reveal just exactly why the countess' tragic fall had occurred, to sob her guilt and misery into his shoulder and collar. She was about to speak, words pressing against the barrier of her lips, threatening to pour off, when a bell rang into the silent night, startling them both. The moment had passed; Thomas arose from his seat, crushing the butt of his cigarette with the sole of his shoe. He turned to Sarah one last time before leaving.
'Keep telling yerself that 'f ye think it'll make things better, but I doubt it will.' He locked his dark blue eyes with hers and gave her a small, comforting smile, awkwardly attempting to pat her shoulder sympathetically. 'And, Miss O'Brien? Try to put a smile on yer face, will ye? I know ye like these people 'bout as much as I do, but it's almost Christmas, for god's sake, and ye look just as gloomy as an ill winter day.' He left her upon these words, hurrying back inside the mansion, leaving Sarah standing, alone in the evening fog.
It was odd, she realised after a while, that Thomas had just compared her to winter, for it was precisely how she felt at this very moment. Just like winter, she was utterly lonesome, bitter and wretched; how could anyone ever love her, not to mention a woman as magnificent, good-hearted and worthy as Lady Grantham? 'Ye are quite right, Thomas,' she muttered to herself as she walked back towards the dark, wooden door. 'Winter lives in me bones; it's all I've ever known.' She blinked a few tears back, slamming the door carelessly behind her without turning back. By doing so, she missed the sight of the first snowflakes of the season falling haphazardly, forming a queer, yet somehow graceful ballet.
PART III
December 1924.
Cora Crawley had begun withering four years ago.
The beauty of her figure had not altered in the slightest, and it seemed that she remained, year after year, as delicate, elegant and breathtakingly gorgeous as she had seemed when Sarah had first laid eyes upon her. However, after Lady Sybil's tragically unexpected death, it seemed that something had broken, deep within the American woman, never to be repaired. The physical damage might not have been striking, but Sarah knew her ladyship more than anyone ever would, and she had instantly realised that Cora's soul and been utterly crushed by her loss. And who could have blamed her, really?
It was as if Cora's former spirit had been sucked within herself, kept buried within the furthest depth of her chest, never to be released again. Her voice had lost her usual enthusiasm and awe at the smallest detail; worse, her deep, bright-blue eyes had lost their spark entirely. She was still beautiful, and yet she was merely a shell of her former self. Often, Sarah would arrive within the room, and find her lady sat in the attic, gazing at the sky silently, with little care for the tears rolling freely upon her cheeks. Wondering what might have been.
Obviously, Sarah had done her very best to bear Cora's grief with her, devoting herself entirely to her mistress, her attention and care increasing after each and every tear she shed. They had grown incredibly close during that period, which made Sarah almost deliriously happy. She was much more than a simple lady's maid by now; she truly was Lady Grantham's confidant. There was very little the countess would keep from her now: she shared her joys, her pains, her fears and doubts with O'Brien, asking for her opinion and advice, seeming to value even the woman's sharp tongue, and allowing her a far greater freedom of speech than she should probably have been entitled to.
Yet, despite all her care and devotion, Sarah knew her efforts would never be enough to bring back the spark that once was. Cora Crawley had once been spring, as radiant and soft as the petals of the first blossoms piercing the thick snow coat of the yard. Now, however, she was merely a shadow of herself, and she seemed to be slowly fading within the very walls of Downton Abbey. O'Brien had first thought Cora's collapse was entirely due to the pain of having lost her youngest daughter in such terrible circumstances. Yet, the more she observed her mistress' lingering sadness, the more she doubted it. Cora's grief seemed to result of a much deeper and older sorrow. She could only wish her mistress would gather the courage to broach the subject one day, for O'Brien desired nothing more than to offer the woman she loved all the comfort she would be able to provide.
'Do you know what day we are, O'Brien?' Her ladyship asked suddenly, out of the blue. Sarah's brow furrowed slightly at the unexpected question.
'December 23th m'lady, if I'm not mistaken,' she answered in a hesitant voice, quite surprised that Lady Grantham would have been upset enough to ignore the very date, especially in a time so close to Christmas. Sarah knew for a fact that her lady had always marvelled at Christmas, for she was utterly keen on respecting each and every little tradition that this day brought. She searched for her mistress' eyes in the mirror, while distractively extracting pins from her hair, disassembling the intricate curls and letting them fall loosely upon the woman's pale shoulder.
'That's not what I meant,' Lady Grantham answered after a silent giggle. 'I was wondering if you remembered what this day meant to us both.' Upon these words, she turned her head to face her maid, and reached out to take her hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. Sarah's heart all but leapt at the unexpected contact, and she breathed in deeply, to prevent her cheeks from flushing too visibly. It wasn't the first time Cora initiated such an intimate contact between them, yet Sarah still treasured it as if it were never to happen again. She looked at her mistress with a questioning gaze, not quite sure what the latter was referring to, and found herself sinking once more into the smoky, pale depth of her eyes. She had begun unwittingly brushing her thumb against her ladyship's knuckles; she only noticed when the latter returned the gesture, sending waves of radiating warmth all throughout Sarah's body.
'I'm not sure I understand you, m'lady,' Sarah replied after a few seconds of silence. She did have an idea of what Lady Grantham could possibly have been thinking of, but surely it she couldn't be right. It sounded utterly stupid to even consider that a countess would remember such an insignificant detail.
'It's been twenty years, O'Brien,' Cora answered, her grip onto her maid's hand tightening as she spoke. 'You arrived here to be my lady's maid exactly twenty years ago, do you remember?'
Sarah suddenly felt her heart swell with desperate love for the woman facing her. She had remembered. Unable to speak, for it seemed her breath had hitched up in her very throat, she simply nodded, giving the countess' soft hand a light squeeze of affection.
'I remember it as if it were yesterday. You looked absolutely terrified, dear!'
'Well, I was quite frightened, m'lady. I knew but little 'bout Downton by then, and even less 'bout yer ladyship.'
'I still haven't forgiven myself for allowing the dowager countess to rip you away from your family as harshly as she did, especially so close to Christmas.'
Cora looked miserable for a moment, the smile waning from her pink, glistening lips. Feeling her lady's hand slip from her fingers, Sarah tightened her clasp, cupping the pale, slender digits with both her slightly calloused hands.
'M'lady, please, don't be. It was not yer fault in the slightest, and-' Sarah swallowed before continuing, 'I ne'er expected to be gifted with so generous and winsome a mistress.' She could feel her cheeks heating up as she spoke, for she knew her boldness could well be assimilated to disrespect. Fortunately, she was relieved when her eyes trailed over her mistress' figure, upon which was reflected no indignation or shock; only sheer gratitude. Cora's eyes were glistening with ghostly tears, as she rose from her seat and stepped closer to her maid.
'Dear O'Brien, you really think too highly of me. But I appreciate the sentiment, more than words can say.'
'I mean it, m'lady. I could ne'er dream of a better mistress to serve.'
'And I could never find a lady's maid quite like you. You've proven yourself utterly indispensable, Sarah.'
Sarah. It was the very first time her ladyship had dared to address her maid by her Christian name, and the small woman felt like her knees were about to buckle with the very strength of the shattering emotion she felt rushing within her veins.
'Thank you, m'lady. It means a lot.' Sarah cursed herself inwardly for such a weak phrasing. She knew for a fact that her words would never flow as elegantly as they did in her mistress' mouth, for the countess seemed to have been gifted with a real talent for rhetoric. However, she was also aware that she ought to express her gratefulness and humility much better than she did at the moment, but it seemed she was at a lack for words.
'I have an idea, O'Brien,' Lady Grantham suddenly said, her smile widening as she released her maid's hands reluctantly, turning away from her and walking towards her dressing table. She seemed to search through her drawers for a few seconds, before pulling two small, blue velvet boxes out of the lower one. 'I originally planned to wait until Christmas day to give you this, but I didn't want it to be lost amongst the presents for the rest of the household. It is quite special after all, and in a way, offering it today makes it much more meaningful.'
On these words, she handed O'Brien one of the two cases, keeping the other tightly clasped in her hand. Sarah received it with trembling hands, shaken to the core by such a gesture. She had never received any gifts since her arrival at Downton, with the exception of the traditional sewing kit from the earl and countess, and occasionally, a few cigarettes from Thomas. At least, the last part had been true for as long as the two of them had remained friends and allies. However, it seemed that even her relationship with the young valet had gone to the ashes since Alfred's arrival: their power struggle had rapidly escalated to unexpected heights for both of them, eventually leaving them both more broken and embittered than before.
She had often caressed the prospect of purchasing herself a present for her lady; however she had never found quite the occasion to do so. Moreover, she couldn't help but think how improper it would probably all have seemed to Lady Grantham. She was merely her lady's maid, and despite what Cora sometimes claimed, what they had would never be a real friendship. Yet, for the first time, she had a tangible proof of her mistress' fondness for her; Sarah thought as she kept eyeing incredulously the small case still lying, unopened, in her hand.
'M'lady, ye shouldn't 'ave-'
'Hush, O'Brien. You've been so much more than a simple lady's maid to me, and after twenty years, you're yet to fail me. So, simply open it, will you?'
Upon meeting Cora's pleading and expectant eyes, O'Brien swallowed her terrible secret one more time, feeling nonetheless another pang of guilt radiating throughout her chest. Carefully, she opened the blue case, only to discover a small, rather discrete yet undeniably refined silver brooch. The maid instantly stooped her head down to take a closer look at it, feeling her very breathe hitch up within her throat. Examining the jewel closely, she discovered that a small snowflake had been engraved upon the surface. Sarah suddenly pressed her free hand against her mouth, struggling and eventually failing to repress treacherous tears from rolling along her cheeks and neck, unfettered.
'You do not fancy it,' Cora Crawley suddenly muttered, her voice laced with sadness and disappointment. Her smile had entirely vanished from her face, and O'Brien hastened to comfort her mistress.'
'Oh, I do m'lady. I just- I can't possibly accept, it's far too much-'
'So, you do like it?'
''f course I do; it's beautiful.'
'Then you shall keep it, Sarah.'
The latter opened her mouth as if to speak, but Lady Grantham silenced her with a small wave of her hand.
'I don't want to hear your protests any longer,' she added with a giggle. 'Furthermore, my darling, it would sadden me greatly if you refused to wear it, for then I would have no reason to show mine, either. What a shame it would be, don't you think? Such a pretty jewel, gone to waste!'
Sarah's brow furrowed as she encompassed the other woman's words. 'Yours, m'lady?' Surely she couldn't possible mean what Sarah imagined…
Cora gave her maid an impish smile, before showing her the second case, which she had kept clasped in her hand. 'Did you think the two were for you?' She joked, moving to stand by Sarah's side, before opening her own small box, and revealing an identical brooch. 'See? I had the same engraved for myself: I chose a snowflake because of our first ever conversation together, do you remember? I guess it was a little pointless, in the end, but I have never forgotten it. And now, through these, we can both carry a reminder of these twenty years of friendship we've shared thus far.'
O'Brien suddenly felt more dazed than she had ever been in the past. Foreign and indescribable emotions were swirling through her, as violent as a winter blizzard, and yet utterly lacking coldness. She silently watched Cora fasten her brooch against the neckline of her dress, right between her breasts and against her heart. She felt herself mirroring her mistress' gestures in silence, inadvertently pricking herself with the pin, as her sight was rendered hazy by the hot tears which kept on welling up under her eyelids.
Once the beautiful jewel was correctly placed, Sarah suddenly decided to throw caution to the wind; if Lady Grantham had been daring enough to buy her such a precious gift, if she cared about her maid enough to wear a jewel identical to hers, simply to show that the latter mattered to her, then the least the small woman could do, was to express her gratefulness and humility at such a modern and touching gesture. O'Brien had never been one for words, unlike her mistress; instead, she silently stepped closer to Lady Grantham and suddenly slid her arms around the latter's upper back, pressing her flush against her chest, against her heart.
Due to their height difference, she found herself unable to bury her face within the inviting crook of Cora's neck: instead, she pressed her forehead against the taller woman's shoulder, sobbing helplessly against the silky fabric of the countess' dress, dampening it almost instantly. Lady Grantham stood stiff and immobile for a few seconds, surprised by the unexpected gesture, before she eventually relaxed, slowly melting within her lady's maid's embrace, marvelling at the softness and warmth of the otherwise cold and apathetic woman she had grown so very fond of.
They remained thus wrapped in each other's arms for long moments, and O'Brien quickly realised how very improper such an embrace would probably have looked to Mrs Hughes. She quickly brushed the thought aside; only tightening her clutch slightly went she felt the countess' willowy arms encircle her shoulders, before she bent her head slightly and nuzzled into Sarah's neck with a barely audible, blissful sigh. When eventually, O'Brien softly pushed the other woman away, she noticed a distinctive flush on Cora Crawley's porcelain cheekbones. A wide, tender smile suddenly split her mistress' face, and she dropped a single, feather-light kiss against O'Brien's forehead, right between her parted curls. It seemed as if the maid's heart had stopped at the very instant the moist, supple lips collided with her own skin; she felt a shiver of delight course along her spine.
'Merry Christmas, O'Brien,' her ladyship simply added as a conclusion to the queer yet beautiful scene which had just taken place in the secret haven of her own chamber, unwittingly fluttering her eyelashes at her lady's maid. 'I might be a little early this year, but I do hope you will enjoy the attention nonetheless.'
'I'll cherish it more than me own life, m'lady,' O'Brien instantly replied, and for once, her words were nothing but sheer truth, despite how very sugary they sounded, especially coming out of her lips. Sarah O'Brien had always been more skilled with sharp, biting words. She was just like winter, after all. And yet, never had she ever expected winter to taste so much like the sweetness of spring.
A few days later, Sarah O'Brien heard a hurried, obnoxiously loud rapping against her bedroom door. She sighed loudly, rubbing a distracted hand against her sore skin. She abandoned the pair of gloves she had been mending for her mistress, and lazily walked to the door, reluctantly pulling it open. She was surprised when her gaze met Lady Rosamund Painswick. The latter had been staying at Downton Abbey for a few days already, as she often did around Christmas. However, it was very peculiar that the lady had apparently decided to come fetch O'Brien herself, for she, as everyone, usually asked Mrs Hughes after her, along the custom.
'What 'elp may I be to ye, m'lady?' Sarah asked, furrowing her brow as the redhead entered the room without asking for any permission. Carefully closing the door behind the lady, O'Brien turned back on her heels to face her, feeling her pulse beginning to race; she was worried that, whatever was the affair Lady Painswick seemed so eager to privately discuss with the maid, it was likely to involve Lady Grantham. Why would she have bothered to come downstairs in the first place, if not for her beloved sister-in-law?
'It is about Cora,' Rosamund eventually said after a lingering silence. O'Brien felt as if her blood had suddenly turned cold, and she gripped the back of her chair, clutching the wood until her knuckles turned white. 'I think she might need you, O'Brien. She looked terribly sad and miserable during the whole dinner, and poor Carson was about to pour fruit coulis over the desert, when she simply rose from her seat and left the dining room without a word or explanation.' Rosamund tightened her lips into a thin, single line, before continuing. 'I excused myself and went right after her, but she refused to let me into her chamber. All I know is that she was crying when I left her, and that it looked pretty serious. I doubt she would ever dare to seek you herself at such an hour, but I figured-'
'Ye were right, m'lady. Thank you very much for tellin' me; I'll go to 'er ladyship right away.' Sarah did her best to soften the tremble in her voice, wanting to sound entirely professional and collected in front of Lady Rosamund. The latter gave her a nod and a grateful smile, brushing the maid's arm quickly with her hand.
'Thank you very much, dear O'Brien. You really are worth each and every of Cora's praises.'
The maid offered a quick, somehow sharp smile back, before escorting the older woman outside her bedroom. She waited until Rosamund disappeared around the corner of the corridor, before hitching up her dress, and rushing up the stairs in a rustle of cloth, as if her very life was at stake. She only slowed down as she reached her ladyship's bedroom door, taking a deep breath and smoothing invisible creases on her bodice. She knocked tentatively, waiting, still and silent, for her lady's answer. When she got none, she decided to enter nonetheless; using the pair of satin gloves she had just finished mending as a pretext for her unplanned intrusion. After all, her ladyship usually lingered far longer in the grand salon; if it hadn't been for Rosamund's unexpected information, O'Brien would have had no way to know of her mistress' early retreat.
She carefully stepped within the room, not wanting to startle the upset woman, and was utterly surprised to find Lady Grantham sat neatly at her dressing table, her forehead resting against her palm. Her left fist was repeatedly yet absentmindedly clenching and unclenching around the fabric of her discarded scarf and, from what the maid could see, her cheeks were still reddened and damp, but the tears had stopped flowing. The latter suddenly cleared her throat to make herself known to her mistress. Cora barely flinched, simply raising her head straight again, and wiping her eyes in haste.
'Dear O'Brien, I am beyond sorry; I should have told you I was here already…' Her tone was casual, but it sounded forced, especially to the lady's maid's trained ears.
'You needn't apologise, m'lady; this is yer chamber. I can come back later if you'd prefer,' she lied through clenched teeth, for she wouldn't have left her ladyship's side for the world in such a moment.
'Actually, O'Brien, unless you mind, I shall desire nothing more than your company, at the moment.'
'Are you quite alright, m'lady?' Sarah eventually dared to ask. Her ladyship's soft smile wavered, before stretching into a half-hearted, sad smirk.
'To be honest with you, I've known better days.'
O'Brien stepped closer, until she came to stand right behind her mistress, as she always did while the latter was seated at her vanity table. Hesitantly, she pressed a comforting hand against her ladyship's shoulder, before moving to unpin her hair, being overly careful and precise with her gestures, in order not to upset the woman any further.
'D'you wish to talk about it, m'lady? Nothin' you'll say to me will ever leave this room, ye can trust me.' The small woman almost bit her own lip after the last sentence; for she knew very well she would forever remain unworthy of her lady's trust. However, she was also determined never to hurt her beloved mistress again.
Cora stood silent for a while, her eyelids fluttering close when O'Brien began shy attempts to soothe her mistress through her touch, gently massaging her scalp, running skilled fingers along her raven locks, separating the tangled curls with much gentleness. Eventually, she shook her head slightly, silently telling her maid that she didn't wish to discuss the matter any further. The latter winced with hurt, painfully realising that Lady Grantham, for all her airs and words, still did not think of her as a real friend. Otherwise, surely, she would have felt the need to confide in her?
'Oh, darling, no!' Cora suddenly exclaimed, leaning her head back slightly, in order to rest it against O'Brien's breast. She gave her maid a quick smile, before continuing. 'You must be sure, Sarah, that I do trust you, completely and wholeheartedly. I am not trying to hide any terrible secret from you; I simply do not wish for my mind to linger any longer within the miserable ruins of my collapsing marriage. I really hope you will not take it as a personal offense.'
'I won't, m'lady; I understand. Yet, is there anything else I can do for ye?'
Cora suddenly shuffled in her seat, reaching for her maid's hands, clasping them tightly between her own. Silently, she brought them towards her lips and dropped a single, fleeting kiss against the smaller woman's knuckles. 'Just stay with me for a while longer, will you?' She replied under her breath, her tone laced with sheer vulnerability.
'Always, m'lady,' Sarah answered, before she could stop herself. For the first time since she had entered the room, her ladyship's face was brightened by a sincere smile, and the maid felt her own heart swell with joy and relief. She resumed her silent, soothing ministrations of Lady Grantham's hair, watching her mistress' face flinch unperceptively as she probably recalled unpleasant words and hurtful memories behind her eyelids. She suddenly had a sour laugh, and searched for her maid's gaze in her oblong mirror.
'How is it possible for people to alter so much in a few years only, O'Brien?' the countess suddenly asked, her gaze focused on her nails in a desperate attempt to look unconcerned, but her maid knew better. After a few seconds of hesitation, she decided to answer as truthfully as she could.
'I don't think people really change much, m'lady. I simply think they stop pretendin' after a while.'
Cora laughed softly, offering her maid a small, unexpected smile. 'You might very well be right, O'Brien,' she answered after a few seconds of thinking. 'I used to think time would smooth the differences I had with Rob- with his lordship, but it seems to have only heightened and sharpened them, to the point where we both began drifting apart rather irrevocably.'
'I'm very sorry to 'ear that, m'lady,' O'Brien heard herself reply dismally, and she inwardly cursed herself for her lack of warmth. 'Although, I think 'is lordship still loves you immensely, m'lady. If I may, maybe you just misread the signs?'
'Dear O'Brien,' Lady Grantham muttered tenderly, shifting in her seat and reaching out to cup the smaller woman's cheeks between her soft, ivory fingers. 'You really are the very best thing to have happened to me over these last twenty years.' Sarah repressed a delighted gasp when she felt her mistress slender fingertips trace circular patterns upon the skin of her cheekbones, struggling not to lean too visibly into the touch. Lady Grantham withdrew her hands after an instant, lowering her gaze, before absentmindedly attempting to smooth some invisible creases over her lap. As she did so, her maid couldn't help but notice that her usually creamy complexion appeared to be slightly flushed.
'As ye are to me, m'lady,' O'Brien added under her breath, in a voiceless mutter which Cora barely managed to catch. The maid began braiding the older woman's silken hair, taking great care not to pull at her ladyship's scalp; her gestures were precise, soft and almost tender. However, within herself, Sarah was trembling as a weak leaf, struggling against a merciless, biting wind. Her ladyship's words and gestures had shaken and upset her to the very core, and she found herself grappling with her urge to wrap the precious woman tightly within her protective arms, and to plant soft kisses amongst her long, wavy hair.
'Did you know that you are the only one to be aware of my favourite season, O'Brien?' Cora suddenly said out of the blue, breaking the comfortable silence which had settled around them.
'Am I really, m'lady?' O'Brien questioned, her brow furrowing with surprise. It sounded very odd to her that such a mundane, casual subject could never have been broached before, especially during one of these seemingly endless dinners. Surely, the matter had to have been broached years ago, probably by one of her mistress' former suitors; Sarah knew for a fact that Cora -née Levinson- had always been crippled with multiple, useless questions in her youth, especially as she represented such a bizarre, exotic jewel, trapped within the stone, cold walls of the English mansion.
Lady Grantham nodded silently, closing her eyes for an instant to underline her silent ascent. She began fidgeting slightly, looking down at her fingertips, before continuing. 'I do not know why, but I always felt the urge to lie whenever someone asked me this question. You are the only one to whom I impulsively told the truth.'
Sarah O'Brien glanced briefly at her silver brooch, before tucking yet another lock of hair within the unfinished braid. ''t was winter m'lady, wasn't it?' She tentatively asked.
Her ladyship offered her a dainty smile, before running a single digit against her own jewel, which was pinned right under her left breast, holding two tails of her evening dress together. Sarah had not noticed the trinket before, but she felt her chest tighten with adoration for her mistress as she acknowledged it: she was utterly touched to realise that a lady as sophisticated as Cora Crawley was, could bring herself to wear a brooch identical to hers, for no other reason than out of sheer friendship and fondness.
'It is indeed,' Cora replied softly. O'Brien finished tying up the silken ribbon at the end of her mistress' braid, and stepped back, joining her hands together and waiting, still and silent, for her lady's next move. Lady Grantham rose from her seat lazily, stretching her back and shoulders, before walking up to her maid, turning her back to the smaller woman, ready to be undressed. Sarah began slowly removing the woman's garments, releasing her pale, slender frame from the constricting clasp of her corset, slipping the stockings down her frail legs. Her fingers moved around the countess with precision and delicacy, barely grazing the skin, her touch so light that Cora Crawley scarcely felt it. The tall woman moaned lightly when she felt the soft caress of the silken fabric of her nightdress against her bare body, her eyes fluttering close as her lady's maid smoothed the fabric with airy brushes of her calloused fingers.
Lady Grantham then slowly walked to her bed, whilst her maid hastily pulled the thick covers on the side, creating some space for her mistress to slip under the sheets, as she did every single night. However, for once, Cora simply sat on the wooden edge of the bed, her legs hanging in the air, her toes resting mere inches from the floor. 'I do not know why I always felt so compelled to answer that I liked summer the most, now that I think about it,' the countess suddenly said. 'I always felt like it was the only answer ever expected from me.'
Her ladyship looked slightly embarrassed for a moment, toying with the pale fabric of her nightdress absentmindedly. She craned her neck to meet O'Brien's gaze, and when she did, the maid noticed a spark glistening softly within her mistress' gaze. For the first time since she had begun working for the woman, twenty years ago, Sarah did not recognise it, or grasp its meaning. Cora suddenly patted the sheet next to her left hip, gesturing for her maid to come sit by her side. O'Brien, utterly stunned, slowly walked up to the countess, sitting stiffly upon the fluffy mattress, careful not to create any point of undesired contact between her body and her mistress'; yet there was little she could do to prevent their utter closeness.
'It was silly, really, to lie about such an insignificant detail,' Lady Grantham added, her eyes focused on some invisible stain on the spotless, cream-coloured wall she was facing. 'But I suppose, in the end, it is quite a relevant example of just why my marriage eventually collapsed.' The lady's voice wavered for a second, laced with frailty and sadness. 'Lies,' she eventually added, her tone suddenly sententious. She then leaned against her maid's arm; the latter carefully pressed her cheek against the top of her mistress' head, before boldly reaching for her small, pale hand, lacing their fingers together tenderly, without a word.
'I was so persuaded that true love would eventually arise between his lordship and I, despite the lies and the constant deception; I thought it was the price to pay for our relationship to strengthen… I should have known better that I would be unable to keep such a heavy mask for so long. These last years have been especially gruelling for us all: it really ought to collapse at some point. I think I finally realised my marriage was already doomed the day my dear, beautiful Sybil passed away.'
Her ladyship let out a muffled sob at the mention of her late daughter's name, and O'Brien instantly reached for her second hand, bringing it over her lap and clasping it tightly. ''T'was an 'orrible day for us all, m'lady.'
'Thank you, dearest Sarah.'
The maid's ears still tingled delightfully, whenever her ladyship chose to mention her Christian name. It gave her a sense of utter intimacy, as if she was linked to her beloved mistress by a secret bond, far stronger than the usual ties existing between a maid and her lady; something which oddly resembled friendship. Cora Crawley let out a deep breath, still fixing the wall absentmindedly, as she continued her ramblings.
'They all decided I ought to love summer, because of its warmth, of its sheer magnificence.' The countess suddenly shuffled on the bed, turning so that her entire frame was facing the younger woman. She met her piercing blue eyes, twinkling with confusion and bewilderment. 'While this is all quite true, it is not what I want, dear O'Brien. What if, in the end, I preferred winter? What if, after all these years of praising summer, I had suddenly realised-' Her ladyship's gaze was seemingly locked with her maid's, and O'Brien felt herself unable to breath, as she contemplated, motionless, the way her mistress' face was slowly gravitating towards hers, her moist, tantalizing lips drifting closer and closer still.
'What if I had suddenly realised-' Cora repeated in a voiceless whisper, '-that I was actually, genuinely fascinated by wintertime all along? What would happen if I eventually admitted to them all that I am still oddly, without rhyme or reason, irrepressibly drawn to the season's coldness, to its bitterness, to the intricate way it always seems to be laced with both stark harshness, and some secret, hidden softness?' Her ladyship's voice was nothing more than a barely audible whisper, yet O'Brien hung onto her every word, refusing to even blink, so great the risk of shattering the dangerous intimacy of the moment was.
'Would it be so terrible if I were different, if I were to be more sensitive to a different kind of beauty? Would it be so utterly wrong if I were to find the subtle, intense charm of winter far more interesting than the obvious colourfulness of summer?'
Cora had uttered the last words so low, that O'Brien doubted her mistress had said them at all. Her whole body was trembling, so very close the countess', whose brow was almost resting upon her maid's forehead. The latter took a shaky breath, her eyes boring helplessly into the azure ones; she had everything to lose, but she knew she would never have another chance quite like this one. After one last moment of hesitation, she tentatively spoke.
'M'lady…' she muttered voicelessly, mirroring her mistress' tone, 'Are ye still talkin' 'bout winter?' she eventually asked, her breath hitching up within her throat.
'Only if that is your wish, Sarah,' Cora replied, her hot breath caressing her maid's agape lips, mere centimetres still separating their burning skins. O'Brien suddenly loosened her clutch at her mistress' wrists, raising her arms slowly, until she was able to softly cup her ladyship's smooth, velvety cheeks, caressing them with her rough thumbs in a desperately infatuated gesture. There was no doubt, no obscurity left between them. In a terribly slow movement, the maid began to pull the countess' delicate figure closer to hers, taking a painful delight in the way her lips hovered tantalizingly close to her beloved's. All of the sudden, she noticed a faint speck of vulnerability within Lady Grantham's splendid eyes, and at this very instant, she eventually pressed her supple lips against Cora's moist, pliant ones, in a gesture as shattering as it was sublime.
The first second of contact between their desire-driven mouths drew a soft gasp from the countess' throat, as she tentatively began moving her own lips under Sarah's, replying to the latter's slightly desperate pressure with her own eagerness and passion. They moved slowly, carefully, breaking apart for mere seconds, before colliding back together with even more urge and craving. Lady Grantham's hands gently slid from her shoulders to her nape, marvelling at the softness of her maid's neck, and intensely aching to tangle her fingers within the woman's deep, brown locks; she began discarding pin after pin, carelessly dropping them amongst the sheets and covers.
As Sarah's lips urgently crashed against her mistress' for yet another time, she began sliding her fingers along the latter's bony jaw, lingering for a moment at the junction it formed with her earlobe, before slipping lower, upon her long, pale neck and shoulders, following the curve of her spine with utter tenderness. Eventually, they reached the bulge of her silk-covered hips, her tingling fingers slightly digging into the burning flesh, in order to better press the countess' body flush against hers in a delightfully inebriating embrace. Her head was spinning madly, as she suddenly felt Cora's slender fingers forcefully tangling themselves into her now freed curls, grazing lightly against her scalp; she all but purred against her lady's lips at the sensation.
When the countess purposeful hands quite suddenly tilted her maid's neck back, in order to better reveal the pale, appealing flesh of her neck, before planting lingering, lavishing kisses against the creamy skin, O'Brien let out a throaty moan. Her hands helplessly curled around the thin fabric of Cora's elegant nightdress, tugging it slightly upwards despite her. She was so utterly lost under the other woman's burning kisses, that she seemed to be lacking her ability to think remotely straight. Yet, there was nothing she feared more than to hurt the woman she loved so entirely, by being too forward, too pressing with her. She forced herself to stay still, struggling against every instinct she had, before letting out a ragged, desperate plea.
'Tell me to stop now, m'lady.'
Cora Crawley broke away from her precious maid for an instant only, meeting the latter's darkened, yet unexpectedly fragile gaze, before urgently claiming her lips once again, her movements rougher and hungrier than before.
'Never-' the countess whispered breathlessly upon her lips, before sweeping her hot tongue against the barrier they formed, forcing her mouth to open slightly. Her eyes fluttered closed as she tentatively pushed her tongue in, and she cried out when it collided with the latter's, utterly delighted by the forbidden contact of their fleshes. A slow ballet for dominance began to take place between the two women, as Sarah slowly attempted to remove her lover's nightdress, her digits aching to eventually touch the countess bare curves and hidden skin. They had both moved to rest entirely on the large, inviting bed, the maid's shoes discarded at the bottom of the frame, forgotten for the next hours to come.
Cora suddenly broke the kiss, her demanding mouth drifting lower still, stopping only when it reached the hem of her maid's unforgiving dress; she licked and sucked her way to Sarah's collarbone, drawing helpless mewls and whimpers from her, until she was forced to move away, in order to allow the latter to finally remove the garment, dropping it carelessly on the floor. As O'Brien did so, the countess suddenly became aware of how utterly bare and vulnerable she stood, compared to the other woman. Well, this simply wouldn't do. Somehow emboldened by Sarah's eagerness to touch her, she suddenly grasped her wrists, and swiftly laid the other woman down upon the mattress, pinning her hands to the pillows, and lifting a leg over her maid's stomach, in order to utterly straddle her. She felt her own heartbeat increase madly, as she encompassed the tantalizing position in which they now stood.
'Allow me, Sarah…' Cora muttered, pressing soft, tender kisses against the woman's swollen lips to keep her silent. 'I need to see you naked, more than anything.' O'Brien felt a few tears prickle at the corner of her eyes, entirely due to her ladyship's tender words, muttered so very lovingly against the skin of her right wrist. She whimpered under Lady Grantham's body, writhing at the delightful pressure of Cora's weight directly pressing against her apex, while the latter began nervously clawing at the minuscule buttons of her maid's thick dress, pulling them open with much urgency. Frustrated at her slow progression, she pressed a ravenous kiss at the hollow of Sarah's throat, swirling her tongue in the small socket she discovered. She felt O'Brien's whole body stiffen with desire as she did so, and gave the woman underneath her a wicked smile, running her tongue against her own lips in a most alluring way, standing just a little too far for Sarah to be able to capture her lips again, as she so obviously wanted to.
The maid groaned in frustration, nipping at Cora's shoulder instead, running the very tip of her tongue against every inch of bare flesh she could reach without sitting up. Realising that the delightful torture would last for as long as she remained dressed, O'Brien's hands suddenly slipped free from Cora's grasp, moving to her own bodice, and all but ripping the rest of the dress open, careless of the state in which she tore the fabric. After all, she had some rather excellent mending skills to put to use, and she couldn't think of a more worthy way to do so. The shuddering, gorgeous woman currently struggling to remove the remaining obstacles between their hot, naked skins, was more than worth the long, tedious hours of work awaiting Sarah.
Cora could hear the very noise of the tiny buttons bouncing off the bed and onto the floor, but she could not possibly care less about the disorder thus created. Instead, she tugged harder at her maid's dress, finally managing to remove it entirely. She allowed Sarah to sit back up, in order to remove the remaining chemise and stockings which still prevented her ladyship from running her hands against the smooth, molten skin of the woman she desired so intensely. O'Brien, utterly used to female garments, rapidly found herself utterly bare, and soon, she was pushing softly against her mistress' shoulders, until Cora was forced to lean down in turn. The maid's skilled fingers then found themselves at the hem of her lace-trimmed, now sodden underwear, which she slid down Cora's endless legs, pressing kisses upon the top of her knees as she did so. Eventually, the last piece of clothing was removed and thrown onto the floor, and the two women's gazes met in silence, an identical look of passion, desire and sheer love blatant on their faces.
Lady Grantham sat back up, O'Brien's curvy, folded legs tightly clasped against her own, and for the first time, they realised they both stood utterly bare, for the very first time. They both remained immobile for a moment, only allowing their eyes to travel upon the other's displayed figure. The countess found herself marvelling at her maid's beautiful complexion, at her soft, generous curves, so very different from her own, sharper ones. She suddenly realised she had never found another body quite so alluring: everything about Sarah was magnificent, from the scattered freckles upon her skin, to the perfect fullness of her delicate breast; she had never thing anything so very beautiful in her whole life.
'God, you are breath-taking, Sarah,' she quickly whispered, before hesitantly cupping the inviting mounds of flesh, slightly tweaking the nipples with her thumbs. O'Brien gasped, throwing her head back in utter abandon, her eyes fluttering close as she slid her hands against Cora's sides, amazed by the softness of her skin. Suddenly, she was entirely sure that the countess would be the only person she would now ever wish to touch in such an intimate way, and this until the very end of her life. Just as she thought so, Cora caught a hardened nipple between her supple lips, and O'Brien cried out as her mistress gently sucked it, circling and caressing it restlessly with her tongue. Her whole skin seemed to be tingling with desperate need, and all of the sudden, Cora found herself tightly trapped underneath her maid, while the latter pressed a rough, urgent kiss upon her lips, making them swollen and almost painful.
'And ye are stunnin', m'lady,' O'Brien muttered as she nipped at the pale, thin skin at the valley of her ladyship's breasts, before gently circling the reddened peak of hardened flesh with the tip of her nose. 'Just allow me to show ye 'ow much I love ye, please, m'lady.' Cora purred under her maid's tender yet forceful ministrations, delighting at how much thicker her maid's accent sounded, now that she was being so pleasantly tortured. However, she pushed away slightly when she encompassed the meaning of Sarah's words, tearing her mouth away from her maid's palm which she had begun to devour with lingering kisses.
'You- You love me?' Cora asked, trembling and utterly vulnerable, as her eyes bore straight into O'Brien's ice-blue ones.
''f course I do. More than anythin' in the world, and forever. The truth is, m'lady, I can't even remember a time when I wasn't in love with ye.'
A single tear rolled upon Lady Grantham's cheek as her maid's words sank within her desire-clouded mind. All of the sudden, she pressed a passionate, urgent kiss to Sarah's lips, caressing them with more love and tenderness than ever before. Their mouths moved together for long minutes, lost in a kiss so intimate that it caused both women to blush deeply when they eventually broke apart, breathless and desperate for the one another. 'Oh, Sarah!' the countess said, wrapping her trembling arms and legs around the other woman, pulling her impossibly closer still, 'I love you more than words will ever be able to say; I am beyond sorry it took me so long to realise. It was you, all along. It was always you, Sarah…' She pressed yet another kiss upon the smaller woman's lips, running her hands along her now tangled, mahogany locks, desiring never to let of her beloved maid ever again. 'And please, my own, call me Cora,' she simply added, before moving down the bed, until she was able to nuzzle within Sarah's chest, dropping feather-light kisses and small bites upon the skin of her firm breasts.
'Cora, Cora, Cora,' O'Brien chanted, the musical name punctuating her every kiss upon her mistress' skin. Her teasing fingers ebbed lower and lower still, getting dangerously close to the taller woman's throbbing, utterly drenched centre. Cora seemed to dissolve into moans and gasps as the lady's maid eventually trailed one lazy digit against her moist, glistening opening, barely grazing at the hardened, overly sensitive peak of flesh, while she began firmly sucking right at the junction between her ladyship's shoulder and neck, knowing from experience how utterly sensitive a spot it was.
'Please, O'Brien-' the countess breathed out between mewls of satisfaction, as Sarah's fingers tickled the flesh of her inner thighs restlessly. 'Please, Sarah, I want you so much! I'm begging you, please- make me yours.' Never had the maid ever heard more erotic words; she eventually retaliated by parting her mistress's slick folds, pressing two fingers against her clitoris, circling it and tickling it until she could feel Cora's whole body tense up with arousal and sheer pleasure. She then dragged her fingers slightly lower, merely teasing her mistress for a few moments, before suddenly entering her; Cora cried out, pressing her fist against her teeth to stifle the noise.
Pushing a single digit it, deeper and quicker still, O'Brien could feel her own body react to the enchanting sight of Cora writhing and jerking against the sheets, her raven locks tousled and spread against the pillow; she felt her own heat pool between her legs, yet chose to remain entirely focused on the woman beneath her. She inserted another finger, curving them slightly in order to hit the exact right spot within the countess. O'Brien's instinctive touch proved to be utterly efficient, as suddenly, she felt her mistress' walls began to tighten around her fingers. Moving down a little, she lapped urgently at her lady' seeking nipples, before crawling even lower, her mouth hovering mere inches from where her finger were delightfully thrusting.
'Jesus, Sarah- Oh, darling, don't you dare stop!' Cora begged in a breathless voice, her hands desperately clawing at the sheets, as she rocked her hips shamelessly, riding her maid's skilled hand to the very edge of orgasm. All of the sudden, Sarah pressed her hot mouth down, sucking hard at her mistress' nub of nerves, while she pushed her fingers in, deeper and harder than ever before. Cora cried her lover's name out as she utterly shattered, arching her back and grinding helplessly against Sarah's skilled tongue, her hands tangling themselves tightly within her tender locks. O'Brien then slid back up, pressing her lips against the countess' in a firm, passionate kiss, aroused beyond words by the knowledge that her ladyship could still taste her own juices upon her lips and tongue. After eventually releasing her swollen, dry lips, she tightened her embrace around Cora, cradling and soothing her mistress' trembling body, drawing intricate circles against the soft skin of her naked back, while muttering indistinct words of love against her heart.
However, Cora was far from ready to let her dear, devoted lady's maid lull her into sleep, still unreciprocated. Waiting to feel Sarah's grip loosen around her, she suddenly rolled her over, until she managed to straddle the smaller woman, who let out a squeak of surprise at her lover's determination. Lady Grantham silenced her with a rough kiss, before pulling away slightly. Taking Sarah's chin between two fingers, she tilted it up, forcing their eyes to meet. 'I desperately need to taste you, Sarah. Will you please let me?' she asked, her voice sounding both hesitant and seductive all at once. The maid's eyes widened and she nodded almost unperceptively, moved beyond words by the depth of her mistress' love.
A mischievous grin plastered upon her still swollen lips, Cora began stroking her delicate hands all over her maid's curvy frame, lingering for a while against her incredibly soft breasts, tracing the outline of her ribs with the tip of a digit. Never had she ever seen such utter perfection than in Sarah O'Brien; she desperately wanted to memorise each and every single line of her body, even the very scent of her skin. Eventually, she reached her maid's lower stomach, against which she nuzzled for a second, before digging her fingers firmly within O'Brien's supple thighs, spreading them apart with terrible slowness. She could hear her lover's very breaths, ragged and irregular, as her hot breath eventually began tickling her inner lips.
'Cora- You don't 'ave to do this for me, m'love,' O'Brien begged one final time, before Lady Grantham silenced her by pressing a soft, single kiss against her moist, swollen folds, not quite touching the throbbing flesh still. The countess gave her lover one last, devilish smile, before brushing Sarah's sex with a single, slow movement of her tongue. The maid violently trashed against the sheets, letting out a sharp, throaty groan, for the sensation was even more intense that in her maddest, most vivid fantasies.
'God, O'Brien, you taste so very delightful!' Cora chanted happily, her mouth mere centimetres from her maid's aching flesh. The combination of the countess's teasing tone and the use of her last name was so utterly erotic, that the maid felt her whole body arch under her lady's hands, her waist drifting closer to the tantalizing, promising lips which still hovered over her.
'Cora…' O'Brien breathed out, her tone slightly desperate.
'I am afraid this isn't the proper way to address your mistress, O'Brien,' Cora teased in a low, sultry voice, tickling her maid's sodden folds with the tip of her fingers, driving her to the very edge of ecstasy.
'Please, m'lady, I'm beggin' ye- Touch me.' O'Brien's strangled plea made her mistress' heart swell with renewed desire and lust, and suddenly, her mouth crashed against Sarah's throbbing centre, roughly lapping, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin, making her maid's whole body arch to the very limit, pushing her hips upwards, in order to increase the contact. Cora, utterly bewildered by her maid's reaction, found herself daringly pushing her tongue deep within Sarah, tentatively swirling it against her inner walls; it was all it took for the woman to reach her peak, her whole body tensing, shaken by uncontrollable spasms as she cried out her release, smothering her own moans behind the palm of her hand.
Despite her shaking limbs, O'Brien hastily pulled Cora back to her, pressing their lips together in a tender, delicate kiss, as she wrapped her arms around her mistress' small waist. The countess instantly curled up against the soft frame of her maid, treading her fingers within her smooth locks soothingly, one leg thrown over Sarah's hips, keeping herself pressed flush against her. They both stood silent for a moment, listening to each other's calming hearts, dropping kisses now and then against the delicate, trembling flesh within reach.
'I love you so incredibly much,' Lady Grantham suddenly whispered against her maid's shoulder, her voice deeply sincere; O'Brien tightened her grip over her mistress, before replying.
'I love you even more, Cora,' she muttered. 'You will always be my spring,' she added, slowly drifting into a hazy, sleepy state. However, she suddenly felt the taller woman twitch lightly within her arms. Her brow furrowed slightly, and she craned her neck, looking at her mistress with questioning eyes. The latter pushed herself upwards a little, intently gazing at her lady's maid.
'If I am your spring, you are my winter,' she eventually said, after a contemplative silence, 'What does that make of us?' The question was asked lightly, more out of banter than as a serious matter, yet Sarah allowed herself a few seconds to carefully consider her answer. Finally, her eyes began twinkling with an impish spark, and she gave Cora an amused smirk, before pressing a soft, lingering kiss upon her beloved mistress' lips, answering with only two, simple words.
'Vernal equinox.'
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! You trully are wonderful, all of you.