The knock on his dressing room door did little to soothe the pounding headache that already plagued him. The nightcap in the library had not had exactly the desired effect, though that could likely be ascribed to the fact that one nightcap had become four as he'd turned over the conversation with Cora in his mind. By the time the fourth drink had settled in his stomach, he was lucky to have even made it back to his dressing room; a headache, he supposed, was just his penance.

When he did not answer and instead rolled over, bringing the nearest pillow over his head, he was rather surprised to hear the knocking pause and the door click open instead. Bates never entered without his permission. And when he heard three short steps followed by the unmistakable weight of someone sitting at the edge of the bed, he knew his fear to be confirmed.

"Cora."

His muffled voice sounded strangled beneath his pillow and when he removed it, turning over to meet the amused expression of his wife, he guessed that his hair looked rather a mess as well.

"Yes?" she answered, smiling ever so slightly and raising one brow.

"Is there something you needed?" Running a hand through his hair only served to confirm that it was sticking out at several angles, and when he sat up more fully, the room began to spin most inconveniently.

"I brought you some peppermint water," she explained, holding out a small glass. "I thought you might be rather worse for wear, since you never did return to bed last night," she added.

Robert grunted noncommittally, taking the proffered glass after a pause. Sipping gingerly, he attempted sitting up once more before eyeing his wife curiously. "I thought you might be angry," he ventured, "and I certainly did not expect you to bring me anything."

Cora smiled softly—which only served to unnerve him more—and edged closer, taking the empty glass to put on his bedside table. "I'm not angry, darling; I might be concerned, but I suppose you're allowed to wake with a thick head every so often."

He chuckled softly, fixing her with a slight frown. "Am I? Because several months ago it was enough to set your teeth on edge."

Again, she smiled gently at him, moving closer until she sat beside him, and took his hand into her own. "Robert, must we always be looking over our shoulders into the past? I don't want you to think that I am angry with you. Because I am not."

"But, Cora—"

"Robert!"

Her exclamatory use of his name was a rarity but never failed to immediately silence him. Fixing his gaze on her eyes, noticing how brightly they shone in the morning, he refrained from saying anything further and instead waited for her to continue.

"Robert, please?"

She did not need to say any more than that; he already understood for what she pled. He knew, he knew deep down, that his behavior had grown increasingly childish over the last weeks and months. He knew he followed her like a puppy at times and never, ever raised his voice anymore. He knew that every action was tinged with the fear of upsetting her, with the fear that she might leave him—even though she had promised long before in the dark quiet of their room that she would stay by his side always. But in the deep, shaded recesses of his mind he had allowed doubt. And so he knew why she sat beside him, her eyes imploring him to stop. And so he nodded, murmured, "I'm sorry," and wrapped an arm around her small waist.

Her exhale at his silent admission is enough to confirm that it is what she needed. And so when she pressed her lips to his forehead, her own arms wrapping around his shoulders, he was not entirely surprised by the relief that practically radiated from her body.

"I love you," she murmured, her lips moving against his skin.

Humming in reply, Robert pulled her closer and closed his eyes, nuzzling his face to her neck to breathe in the delicate scent of her perfume. And he couldn't help but smile when a moment later Cora leaned down and pressed her lips softly to his, her kiss growing more intense after a long moment.

"Cora—" Robert groaned, leaning back against his pillows as his wife settled into his lap, her long skirt draping over his thighs. She said nothing and only smirked, her lips trailing warmly down his cheek and neck until they met the slight opening at the top of his nightshirt, pressing to the bare skin there. He heard her appreciative hum when he in turn brought his hands to rest on either side of her waist, his fingers dancing hesitantly over her light silk blouse as she dipped lower, unhooking his shirt button by button at a torturously slow pace.

If he had known his light touch affected her, Cora was sure that Robert would have no doubt about her feelings toward him—and this particular facet of their marriage—whatsoever. His strong hands tightening their hold on her waist was enough to drive her to distraction, and as she reached the very last button of his nightshirt, pressing her lips there ever so lightly, she relished the almost pained groan it elicited from her husband.

"Cora…" He repeated her name again, the iterance pulling another grin across her features as she finally looked up, taking in his disheveled appearance and the boyish delight on his face. He held one hand out, gesturing for her to come closer, and she did so happily, crawling back up his body until their faces met again, his lips capturing her own in a hungry caress.

They remained entwined on his small bed for some time, the rhythmic ticking of his bedside clock the only reminder of passing time. Cora's hands running through his hair and Robert's strong embrace were more than enough to melt everything else away, leaving just the two of them in their quiet moment. Until, as often was the case, Cora happened a glance at the very same clock that provided the background noise to their interlude, realizing that time had quite literally caught up with her.

Pulling back almost immediately, Cora tried not to look utterly horrified at the time, and the realization that nearly an hour had passed. She tried to smile at her husband's amused—and then confused—expression, offering him the only false explanation she could manage when he realized that she was in fact leaving him in such a state: that she needed to be downstairs to meet with Mrs. Hughes in but a few minutes. She tried—and failed—to not let his glum expression and sigh affect her, for she could not very well explain that she had flowers and food and various other Valentine paraphernalia being delivered to Eryholme that morning.

She tried to lean close and kiss him once more, in an attempt to assuage his hurt feelings, and then silently attempted to assuage her own when he turned his face, effectively avoiding her peace offering.

"Just go, if you must," he managed quietly, not meeting her contrite gaze.

And she nodded, though he did not look to see, before removing herself from the room, hoping desperately that all these plans were worth the doubt and concern she could already see taking root in her husband's mind.


Robert wandered around the estate for longer than he usually did in the afternoons. There was already a harsh chill in the air and the disappearing sun did little to help the frozen ground and breeze. He hadn't intended to be out so late; it was meant to be a short day, with only two scheduled appointments around the estate. Those had passed without much to note, but time had gotten away from him after leaving Yew Tree Farm. He'd wandered down the old, overgrown path that connected the farm to one of the Downton fields. It had long ago fallen into disuse in favor of the road, and it had been nearly a decade since he last walked it.

But it was not the path that held Robert later than he'd planned; it was his thoughts that bogged him down, made him amble rather than walk with purpose, and that forced him—more than once—to sit on an errant tree stump and gaze out on the horizon. She said that she wasn't angry, that there was nothing wrong. But then, yet again, when he finally began to feel as though things were really alright, that they were as close as they could be, she pulled away—quite literally this time.

And by the time he returned to the house, it seemed his thoughts were no less jumbled than they'd been that morning when he set out.

Unfortunately for Robert, though, his hope for a quiet evening by the fire and a scotch (a small one, at least) was dashed as soon as he crossed the threshold and was met by Carson. The butler, stoic as ever, handed him a note that explained in scrawled, vague detail of a problem at Eryholme that required immediate attention.

Trekking out to Eryholme was the last thing Robert wished to do so late in the afternoon, but he was also hesitant to let the issue—whatever it actually was—go since the house was now unattended except for a part-time groundskeeper. If anything were left too long it would likely grow into a larger and more expensive problem. And so he found himself in the motor once more, with plans to assess the issue and telephone Tom, should it require any sort of further help.

He never counted on the problem at Eryholme being his wife.

Robert looked on incredulously as the car pulled to a stop and the driver came round to open his door, leaving him face to face with a smiling Cora. She looked a bit harried, admittedly, but she was dressed in a beautiful red gown and wore some of her finest jewelry.

Before he could gather his thoughts, much less open his mouth, she took a few steps closer to him and kissed his cheek, murmuring, "happy Valentine's Day, my darling." And then, in an effort to ease the confusion written plainly across his face, she took him by the hand and led him inside.

It had been years since he was last inside Eryholme. But he was quite certain that it was not decorated in tiny paper hearts, red tablecloths and candles on his last visit. The lights were out almost entirely, and so the rooms were bathed in soft flickers that only highlighted his wife's beauty, and the way her eyes sparkled at him.

"Cora, what on Earth is this?" he asked, taking in the beautifully decorated foyer.

She only smiled again, shrugging slightly. "Your—well, our, Valentine's gift, Robert. You didn't think I'd forgotten, did you?"

He shook his head. "No, of course not. But I didn't expect you to commandeer an entire house either."

"Well, that shall teach you to stop underestimating me, won't it?"

Cora grinned, her words said in jest, but Robert took a step to close the distance between them and took her into his arms, hugging her close and kissing her neck. "I have never, in all our years of marriage—" he answered, after looking deeply into her eyes, "—underestimated the abilities of my beautiful wife."

He could have looked at her pleased smile all night, if not for the faint smoke wafting from the servant's door at the opposite end of the room. Releasing her from his grasp begrudgingly, he nodded toward the offending area and asked, "Cora, should we be concerned about that?"

She shook her head rather sheepishly, and held out her hand to lead him closer. "No, not exactly," she answered, sounding a bit less certain than he would like. "You see, " she explained, whilst walking them down the stairs and to the kitchens, "I thought it would be romantic to cook you dinner, something—one of the rare things, actually—that I have never done for you. But, well…" she trailed off as they reached the kitchen, nodding at several platters full of what once might have been food but looked rather charred.

"Well," Robert picked up almost without pause, "we have wine—" he nodded toward an uncorked bottle, "—and I have my beautiful wife."

"Do you mean that?" Cora laughed with relief, and moved to pick up two clean glasses from the counter.

"Of course, darling. Now, did you set the table or are we to eat down here?" he asked, eyes alight with mirth.

"Upstairs, in the drawing room," Cora replied, sauntering past him and throwing a quick look over her shoulder. Robert only grinned in reply, following after his wife.

He felt lighter than he had in weeks, and the worries of the afternoon were suddenly the furthest thing on his mind.


A/N: there will be a third and final chapter.