He made the realization yesterday. Several clues throughout the day had convinced him of it: the warmth of his silly grin as he moved her needlework from his intended seat, the constriction of air as he heard her voice in the hall, and the tender ache of his heart when she peered at him across the dinner table.
Then of course, there was last night. After yet another rather unceremonious attempt to conceive an heir, she lay next to him, her face buried against his arm. In the dark quiet, he felt her breath and the soft pattern of her lashes brushing ever so lightly against his skin, a feeling that, after reflection, gave his heart such warmth.
"Robert," her voice was soft and serene, but she did not move. She lay still, her words crawling upon him with an uneasiness that he couldn't quite explain.
"What your mother said earlier..."
He stopped her with a gentle shush and she fell silent at once. Cora was rarely the defeated sort, but his mother's venomous words had found their way into her confident facade. He saw it at the moment of her strike. Although no one else could detect it, the spark that illuminated Cora's eyes had instantaneously been extinguished. Her smile never wavered.
"It'll happen, Cora. There's no reason why it should not."
She lay still for a moment longer, and then nodded against him. They fell quiet again for a moment, lost in the labyrinth of their silent, but identical, fear.
"I want so much to have a baby."
He digested her words and felt his stomach flip. A baby? Although an absurd exemption, he had never thought of his heir as her baby, or even as their baby. And yet, at her words and at his stomach settling back to its natural position, a new sensation crept into his chest. He couldn't describe the feeling, a mixture of elation and yearning, and also some apprehension. He swallowed hard, hearing himself quietly gulp in the darkness.
"So do I," he answered, and he meant it with every fiber of his being. And what was more, he wanted her to have his baby.
Now, lying in the early morning darkness of his room, he realized something else. This feeling he was sure he felt for her, it wasn't new. Perhaps he'd felt this way much longer than he knew. His chest hurt with the thought, but in a completely satisfying sort of way. Her had to tell her. He desperately wanted to creep into her room and slip back into her bed now, suddenly feeling incredibly empty without her next to his side. However, something within him stopped him. It wasn't that he was afraid to tell her, after all they'd been married for nearly a year. At this point it was nearly expected to feel something for the woman he married. It was that, as he lay in the darkness, his mind couldn't help but recall the nights lying skin-to-skin with his wife, as he slept off the satisfaction of their union and before slipping into his dressing room. He recalled hearing her whisper near his seemingly slumbering form, "I love you, Robert."
No, it had to be right. She deserved that much.
