A/N: Pardon me for this. It's not good, I know but I just had to write it. It basically wrote itself in my head. And I guess, this is what happens when I am still awake at 3 am. Anyway, this was prompted by that cool little trivia that thedowntonhistorian posted on tumblr. And so, here we are. Enjoy! And merry Christmas!
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Robert had watched his wife of a little more than half a year become so engrossed in some kind of a book. He noted the changes in her expressions, as she had a rather expressive face. Sometimes, her eyebrows would furrow as if contemplating, or sometimes her lips would curl up in a smile, as if she found something amusing; sometimes her eyes would go wide, as if she was reading something completely scandalous or surprising, and sometimes, she would look calm and passive, as if she was merely digesting what she was reading. He didn't know what it was about, and given the precarious situation they had found themselves in the middle of, he hadn't thought it right to ask. He'd feel as though he'd be invading her privacy, although he imagined there was very little left of that privacy considering what goes on her bedroom every night.
But he did want to know.
From the engraved title on the front cover, he could tell that it was French. This surprised him. He hadn't thought Cora understood or spoke French. Of course, he had not thought her daft, he would never dare, but it surprised him simply because he hadn't known. Clearly, there was so much about his own wife that he didn't know.
And he was ashamed that he hadn't even tried to know.
He knew Cora loved him—obviously more than he did for her, and most probably much more than he deserved. He was always so laden with guilt at the thought, but he could not very well just tell himself to love her. Though he had been brought up to think that love was not necessarily an ingredient of a successful marriage, by English standards, of course, he also knew that love was not something you push on a person. It has to be felt freely, given freely, without constrictions, and without compensations. But he did wish that he could, if only to make his wife happy.
His said wife lifted her eyes from her book, finally, and looked at him. She beamed, then as if remembering herself, she turned her beam into a demure smile. It made his heart ache that she felt the need to guard herself, even around him when he was so sure that he would pass no judgment against her. But he supposed that she didn't really feel as free with him , considering he was so guarded around her himself.
"Hello, dear," he said in a way of greeting. He had been standing in her room for more than just a few minutes by now, his back against the dividing door, already clad in his dressing robe. "You look busy." It was nothing but a mere comment, and he'd hoped it would not sound like he was very eager to get her to bed.
Her brows furrowed, as if it was exactly she had taken his words as. "No," she said lightly, the despondency in her voice so clear it almost felt like daggers. "I was just reading." She folded the book and set it aside. She stood up from the settee and took off her robe, walking towards him with a smile curving in her lips. It was not forced, which relieved him, and she did look ready to spend the night with him.
But that made him feel like a cad.
It was not like their nights were dull, it was not like that at all. In fact, they were quite the opposite. Their nights were…nice. Nice. That was what he thought of their nights as. He felt though every night, duties and propriety hung over them like a bad cloud. Nice though it may be, even he was aware that something was quite missing. He was loathe to admit it, but he realized that maybe love was what was missing. The fiery passion induced by a deep-rooted love, not just base or carnal, something that seeped through the bones and veins and made someone feel alive at the merest touch—it was what was missing. And though he knew Cora would give it freely, make him feel like king through her ministrations despite her inexperience should he want to, a part of him did not want to. Not when he couldn't give it back to her. After all, no matter how much he'd lusted after her, it wasn't the same as love. Lust was not the same as love.
When they had finished, they both lay side by side on the bed, panting heavily from their exertions. It had been nice, another passionate encounter, but it wasn't anything more.
"Cora," he began, when he felt he'd caught up with his breathing and his heart had steadied.
She hummed softly against her shoulder, her still cooling body clinging into his.
"What was that book you were reading about?" he asked. "The one you were reading before we'd gone to bed."
She lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him, and even in the darkness (for they have not made love with any lights on ever since their wedding), he could see her blue eyes, the way they shine against the moonlight, but even then, they looked hollowed.
"It's nothing," she said glibly, resting her head back in his shoulder. "Just bedroom arrangements, I guess."
His body tensed and tautened, his mind reeled. He would have let his jaw drop, had it been acceptable. Was Cora really reading such bawdy books?
In his utter surprise, and perhaps horror, he heard her chuckle slightly. He turned his head towards her.
"You need not be quite so shocked," she said, reprimanding him teasingly. "It's not dirty or risqué. It is simply about marriage, and the arrangements, compromises, and the like, made in it. It's not about…well, you know."
He exhaled the breath he didn't even know he was holding. But then he frowned. What was Cora getting out of it?
Silence fell over them, and their breathing filled the in between, as they both got lost in their own thoughts. Robert could not tell what Cora was thinking about, but he would hedge a bet that it was about the said book. In fact, it was even on his mind. And that bothered him.
Feeling as though he might fall into slumber then and there, he placed a kiss on the crown of Cora's head and made a move to get up. Cora surprised him however, when she clutched at his shoulders, willing him to stay put.
"Cora," he said. He knew that Cora wanted him to fall asleep beside her, had even told him once about it, but he didn't think it right. It certainly was not proper. And after he'd disabused her of such notion, she'd let up and let him return to his dressing room night after night.
"Why won't you stay, Robert?" she asked in a broken voice, and he knew that no matter how American his wife was, it still took a lot of her to be this openly broken in front of him. She did have some pride. Even if it was what she had left as he had already taken everything.
"You know that it isn't right," he said, in a way of explanation, because for the life of him, he didn't really have one beyond that. "It's not proper."
She huffed. "What isn't right is that you leave me here, alone in bed after doing what we just did," she said, her voice raised, and her arms crossed against her chest. She was barely covered by the bed covering she'd wrapped around herself, and it was hard to take her indignation seriously when she looked as scrumptious as she did now.
"You know Mama told us that it's not right for couples to be asleep in one bed…not after all the duties are done. Our pride and honor, they won't be intact after that."
Again, she huffed. "My pride and honor are as kaput as they could be, Robert. You've already laid claim to it, what is there to lose?" She sounded more than just a little furious now.
He blanched at the thought, feeling guilt seep through him. She was right. But still. "But Cora, had you even realized that…" he paused, not really knowing to explain it properly. But in the end, he blurted out, "suppose I snored or drooled or kicked you in my sleep. Do you even know how embarrassing that would be?"
Her eyes widened, and then in only a few beats, her shoulders slumped, as if accepting her defeat. "But I don't care about that," she said. "I don't care if you snore or drool, or push me out of bed…You're not Robert Crawley, heir to the Earldom in my bed, in our bed. You need not worry about your reputation or your pride or your honor. You're Robert Crawley, the man I'd taken as my other half, the man I wish to be the father of my children, the man I hope to spend the rest of days with…" she bit her lip and cast her eyes down, and in a very low voice, she murmured, "the man I love with all my heart."
Her words had cut him deeper than he was willing to admit to her, to himself. "I'm sorry, Cora. Goodnight," he said, feeling and being pathetic, before he walked out of her bedroom and into his dressing room, closing the dividing door between them softy.
The next day rolled by and he was surprised and a little bit disoriented at the fact that he had not seen a glimpse of his wife, not even at luncheon. But he'd had lunch over at Anthony Strallan's, so it was not very likely. He strolled back into Downton, expecting to see Cora there as it was late in the afternoon, and usually, she would be up and about around this time, roaming the gardens, or reading a book in the library, or doing her needlework. But she wasn't there.
He had gone up to her bedroom, fearing she might be sick, or worse, depressed and angered by his actions the night before. Although in his mind it all were justified, he was sure that his wife would think differently. He was, again, surprised to find her bedroom empty, no sign of her anywhere. He'd asked Carson, the under butler, and was promptly told that the Viscountess had gone out for the day, since early in the morning, for a day in Ripon. So, feeling severely weighed down at the thought that he would not see his wife until late, he walked upstairs again, intent on napping until the dressing gong. His father had gone to London that day, and everything that Robert had to do in Patrick's stead, he had already done.
He passed Cora's bedroom door, and he stood there awhile, contemplating. He wanted to go in, but he wasn't sure exactly what he was about to do if he did.
Deciding to stave off his urge, he opened the door to her room and marched in, surveying the expansive space. Shrugging, he decided that he only wanted a whiff of Cora's scent and left it at that. He was just about to cross the room and go through the dividing door, when something on the settee caught his eye.
It was Cora's book.
He walked over and picked it up, studying it. He sat down and flipped through the pages. It felt odd, to be reading Cora's book, without her permission or even her supervision, but he swallowed back the guilty feeling. After all, it was simply a book—a published one. It was not like he was sniffing through her journals and reading her innermost thoughts and feelings.
"Physiology of Marriage?" he asked, perplexed.
He thumbed through it, and flipped it open on the page that she had dog-eared. As was expected, it was in French. He perused the paragraphs, reading and understanding with a little difficulty. He was tempted to search for his sister, but realized that he had better luck figuring this one out by himself since Rosamund had as much interest in learning and understanding French as his mother had interest to go and visit the Continent.
He read, astonished, as the author argued that sleeping beside one's spouse did not take away someone's pride, or honor, or strip them off of their reputation. It was quite the contrary, in fact, as pride and honor was fortified when he or she shares his or her deepest, darkest part of himself with the one he or she had married. It was hard to believe, hard to comprehend. The author suggested that what goes on, when one had slept beside the person they chose to marry and spend the rest of their days with, would stay between him, God, and his spouse.
His head was reeling, and it felt as though his entire belief was smashed right in front of him.
'I don't care about that… You need not worry about your reputation or your pride or your honor. You're Robert Crawley…the man I love with all my heart," he heard her voice inside his pounding head. He could feel his heart beating sporadically inside his chest, he could hear it, and he wondered why it had not leapt out of his chest yet.
Acceptance.
It was all that he needed. He needed not to worry about anything. She had been right. It was not uncouth, nor unholy, nor undignified to share these things with someone. In fact, it showed strength…the ability and the courage to share a part of himself with anyone…and maybe, not just anyone, not just someone…with Cora. Cora, the woman who loved him, whom he cared a great deal for, the woman who was willing to accept him for what he was…an hour before he'd woken, and an hour after he had.
He wondered now why he had been so daft.
Now loaded with a new found revelation, and a silent promise, he waited for his wife, wanting only for the time to pass by, so he could finally be himself. So he could share himself with her.
When the night finally did arrive and they lay ensconced in her bed after a round of love-making, he held her tight against him. He felt the steadying rise and fall of her breath, and remained quiet, savoring the moment, and smiling at the thought of being able to do this every night from here on out.
"Did you enjoy your day, darling?" he asked as he stroked her shoulder blades. He felt ore than heard her sigh contentedly and it made him smile.
She nodded against his chest. "A bit, but I guess it's more tiring than exciting now," she said. "Madame Swan makes the same frocks…it's not as exciting as the first time."
He chuckled, ignoring the feeling that she might be alluding to something else entirely—something that did not involve frocks. "Well, you look breathtaking in them anyway," he said genuinely, feeling her smile against his skin in response.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
As was usual, they fell into silence. But for once, Robert did not feel the heavy weight pressing down on him—no more pressure to leave, no more thoughts about whether he should do as he willed, which was to stay, or whether he should do as he was bid, which was to leave.
He was staying, this time and for many more nights to come—that was the plan.
Apparently, Cora had not quite caught on to the plan.
"Aren't you feeling sleepy yet?" she asked quietly, obviously already feeling sleepy herself.
"I am," he admitted. He felt her move away from him, untangling their limbs, and taking the other side of the bed, leaving a space between them. He was a little bit bewildered. Did she not want to be held? "What are you doing, dearest?"
She whipped around and looked at him equally bewildered. "I thought you'd wanted to sleep," she said, looking at him expectantly. But when he nodded and made no plans to move, she continued, "In your own bed, like you do every night for the past six months?"
He shook his head, abashed. "I just..." he paused, feeling a little embarrassed to have put them in this situation. "I thought you'd like it if I stayed this time."
He could easily read the surprise in her eyes. But her smile told him it was pleasant. A pleasant surprise, indeed. "I thought you said it wasn't right," she inquired with a raised eyebrow.
"What isn't right is that I leave you in bed alone after doing what we have just done," he said parroting her words from last night with a smirk.
She smirked back at him. "And how about your pride and your honor?" she asked teasingly.
"It's very important," he agreed easily, which only made her eyebrow shoot up higher on her hairline. He could see the disappointment dancing in her eyes, and he wished to wipe it away. "You are my pride, and my honor," he added, making that very disappointment vanish and be replaced instead with great joy. "I care about you a great deal." Not quite what she needed to hear, but he knew that for now it was enough.
"Oh Robert," she sighed wistfully. "But what if you snored or drooled or punched me in your sleep?" She was clearly teasing him this time.
And it made him laugh. He pulled her to his embrace again, encircling her in his arms, and placing a kiss on her forehead. "I don't mind as long as you don't mind," he said. "I'm Robert Crawley in this bed, in our bed, not the future Earl of Grantham, but the husband of my lovely wife and the father of her yet unborn children…the man she'd taken as her better half, the man she would be spending the rest of her days and nights with."
There were tears gathering in her eyes by the time he was finished. "Well, I don't mind," she reassured him, sealing her promise with a kiss. "I love you."
"Good," he replied before snuggling her to him closer, placing a kiss on her lips.
He realized, as he closed her eyes, that she was the only woman in the world he would ever want to sleep in bed with, the only woman he would so willingly share himself with…the only woman in this world he loved…the only woman he ever would.
Fin (12/23/14)