The train ride to London was been a hellish nightmare vaguely reminiscent of the fifth circle of Dante's Inferno. The private train car that once seemed large when the girls were small now seemed an instrument of torture. Squeezed in with four women, three of whom thought it would be pleasant to scream, pinch at each other and continually inquire as to how much longer the ride would be, made Robert question why the army did not employ little girls to question prisoners from the other side. It would be a most effective tactic, he thought. By the end of the ride he was ready to jump right from the moving car to get away from the little ruffians masked in lace and curls.

Miraculously he managed to get everyone off the train and bundle the girls and his wife into the waiting carriage, followed by their luggage and servants behind them. Cora had remained mostly quiet throughout their journey, but he had noticed a brighter expression painted across her face for most of the day. She seemed less bothered by the girls and their shouts, and only scolded Mary once, for pulling her sister's hair. And even more odd, when they arrived at the house, he could swear Cora skipped up the walk toward the door.

He was beginning to think that perhaps he was the one who was acting strangely.

The girls scattered throughout the house, exploring their new surroundings, and left their parents alone in the foyer. Their little yells and pounding feet could still be heard but it was a welcome respite from the close quarters on the train. Cora smiled sweetly at him as she directed her maid upstairs to unpack, promising to be up momentarily to oversee the process.

"I'm so very glad we're in London," Cora whispered, pressing a kiss to Robert's lips. He grinned widely at the impetuous gesture but before he could reciprocate she had bounded up the stairs, leaving him in yet another state of utter bewilderment.


Robert oversaw his own unpacking and then decided to venture over to their bedroom, hoping to catch Cora alone.

The room was empty, and looked as though Cora and her maid were already through with her cases. All the luggage was tucked neatly under the bed and only the wardrobe in the far corner was opened slightly. Curious, Robert padded across the room and opened the chest. Truth be told, he had no real interest in the fashions of his wife or daughters. What he was curious about, though, was whether or not the damned tartan dressing gown had followed him to London. And indeed, it was hanging precariously on the edge of the wardrobe. But perhaps she had brought other things as well?

Pulling out one of the drawers, he felt excitement flutter up through his body as his fingers met the delicate silk and lace of the beloved pale blue and cream-colored nightdress. Pulling it up to inspect it, he grinned with delight as he imagined Cora slipping into it…and then out of it soon after.

And as he carefully folded it back into the drawer, something even more exciting caught his eye. Tucked away beneath some of Cora's undergarments, he saw a flash of deep red silk, trimmed with a matching lace—a garter of some sort. His fingers reached for the garment and he was just about to pull it out of the drawer when he heard the pounding of six tiny feet charging down the hall.

Stuffing it back beneath the nondescript camisoles and undergarments, Robert shut the cabinet doors and whipped around just as his daughters infiltrated, tearing into the room in search of their mama. They looked at him like an intruder, someone impeding their search and someone who was vying for the attention of the person they ran through the halls shouting for. They didn't bother asking what he was doing poking around in the wardrobe, and instead they all exchanged a frown, giggled at their papa's odd expression and ran back out of the room.

Robert breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed against the bed as his thoughts returned to the exciting discovery he had just made. Perhaps later in the evening he would be treated to his wife in one of those most interesting ensembles. Feeling his body begin to react, he stood and wandered out of the room before he was completely taken away with thoughts of Cora and silk undergarments.

Night came and found Robert sitting in bed as eager as a little boy on Christmas morning. When he arrived from his dressing room, Cora was already in the washroom and he could hear her moving around. He watched the door, waiting for his wife to emerge from the room wearing the silky fabrics he had been thinking about all afternoon.

The door clicked open and he felt himself nearly burst with anticipation.

But when Cora emerged in her long white nightdress and tartan dressing gown slung over her shoulders without so much as even glancing up at him, he suddenly realized that something was very, very wrong. But perhaps Cora was simply tired after a long day of travel and so he kept his counsel, hoping that the next night would be a bit more exciting.


For the next three, Cora exited the washroom in the same long white nightdress looking exhausted and as if the very last thing she wanted was for him to be anywhere near her.

Finally Robert decided to take things into his own hands, so to speak.

At first he thought that he had done something to upset Cora; that her silent embargo and odd nightwear was all part of some elaborate punishment for his forgetting to do or purchase something that he was supposed to.

But after inquiring, well bribing, her lady's maid, he learned that she had not so much as even mentioned being upset with him.

A similar conversation over tea with his sister seemed to confirm that fact.

It was late in the afternoon and Cora had taken the girls out to be fitted for some new dresses. He and Rosamund were decamped in the library with tea and the latest gossip; something he found he actually missed whilst away. There was nothing quite as frivolous as listening to Rosamund gossip about various society women while having one's tea. It made one rather grateful and was a reminder of what a luxury being home actually was.

It was not until his second cup that a red flag was raised. "Cora must be so glad to finally be in London, It's all she's been talking about for the last two months," his sister said, conversationally.

His confused expression must have surprised her because she stopped mid sentence and looked at him curiously as he frowned and took another long sip.

"She's been excited about coming?" He asked, raising a brow. Either Rosamund was being particularly sarcastic or he was indeed missing something. Cora seemed anything but excited lately. If she was not complaining about the summer heat and the crowds then she was chasing after the girls, whose nanny seemed utterly incapable of keeping them in one room for very long.

Her frown told him that she was not being sarcastic at all. And in fact now it was she who looked rather confused. "Yes, before you returned she said…" His sister frowned again and trailed off, as if replaying the words in her mind and thinking better of repeating them.

"What did Cora say?" He asked, his tone shaper than he intended.

Rosamund hesitated and looked around warily, unsure of whether to release the words into the room likely surrounded by the prying eyes, and ears, of servants and various family members flitting in and out. "She said…she said she couldn't wait to be away from it all; free from the prying eyes of Downton…to enjoy herself."

Robert swallowed a long gulp of tea and tried to remain passive. Standing up and saying a hasty goodbye to Rosamund, whom he left looking rather embarrassed, he rushed back upstairs, bursting into the bedroom on a mission.

He closed the door and locked it behind him, not wanting to be discovered by any of the servants, or, God forbid, his wife. Creeping over to her vanity, he felt a rather large twinge of guilt. This was not like him, sneaking around about to poke about in Cora's belongings. What on earth did he think he was going to find?

But then he turned, only slightly, and caught sight of the wardrobe in the corner.

Hanging outside was the hideous tartan robe.

Something was not right.

Their London trips used to be full of events at night and long walks through the park by day. He had barely seen her these last days, as she had been out on various social calls. She packed frilly, lace undergarments but came to bed wrapped in her robe each night, pecking him on the cheek before rolling over and falling right to sleep.

Unless. Unless…

What if?

No. No. It couldn't possibly be.

Could it?

The horrible revelation of it all, even the possibility, overwhelmed him and brought him to his knees. A terrible, sharp pain coursed through him and he stumbled backward toward the bed, resting on the edge as he felt his face start to flush.

No, no. No. Cora wouldn't. She—they, they were in love! She would never…

"I need some peace and quiet, is that so hard to understand?"

"Can't you keep them quiet?"

"Robert, not tonight."

"I'm tired—no."

"Just don't touch me, alright?"

"Doesn't anyone in this house understand?"

"You come back early and all you do is take walks or read."

"Don't you see? You can't go away and expect everything to be the same."

All her words echoed in his ears, making him feel rather ill. Every odd sentence, annoyed look and perturbed sigh suddenly came rushing back, pushing to the forefront of his mind and piecing together like a puzzle. And he saw his whole life, the life they had created together, shatter on their bedroom floor.

His hands were shaking when he gathered his thoughts and stood a few moments later. Out of anger or confusion, he wasn't completely sure.

Was he supposed to feel angry that the risqué nightwear was not intended for his eyes? Was he supposed to feel sad, or guilty? He had left for war. She begged him not to go, told him she couldn't live without him. But he left anyway.

Perhaps it was his fault that she needed to seek comfort elsewhere?

Or perhaps it wasn't comfort she was seeking at all.

Yes, it was anger that he felt.

A burning dark anger that rushed through him and made him want to smash every object in sight. Setting his sights back on her vanity, he pulled open the delicate drawers, some of them crashing right to the floor. He rifled through the various papers and trifles, wholly unsure of what he was looking for but positive that he was already half out of mind with anger. And fear.

He found it in the top drawer, written on the stationary she wrote her letters and appointments on. Written in her delicate and loopy handwriting that made his heart clench each time he saw it. The same handwriting that had filled countless envelopes and letters while he was away.

The Savoy. 6 PM. May 24th.

That was tomorrow evening.

Tomorrow evening his wife had an appointment at a hotel.

Out of some sick sense of curiosity, his eyes wandered back to the wardrobe in the corner. The wardrobe where all her nightclothes and underthings were sitting, mocking him and offering a physical representation of everything he was losing.

Not bothering to clean up the mess, he crept back over and opened it once more. Sliding out the drawer he had opened upon their arrival a few days earlier, he expected to be met with the deep red silk of the garter and the soft fabric of her nightdresses.

But the drawer was empty.

He felt the anger bubbling up inside him once more. Perhaps she was wearing it now, waiting with anticipation for May 24th at 6 PM. Waiting for the moment she could be rid of him, rid of their house and their life. Or perhaps she had packed it up already, eagerly anticipating her little trip.

How on earth did she plan on explaining her absence? Would she feign some illness and sneak out of the house? Would she pretend to be paying a social call and have it "run late?" Maybe she would just leave, offering no explanation and instead just casting out into the night without him.

He sank down onto the floor, his back leaning against the wardrobe. How could she? How could she do this to them?

He banged his head against the wardrobe in frustration.

Cora's tartan nightgown came flying down from its perch on the hook, hitting him right in the face.


Dinner was a rather silent affair. The girls had been sent to eat in the nursery, punishment for causing a scene in the dress shop, and so it was only Robert, Cora, Rosamund, Marmaduke and his mother.

Rosamund looked guilty for upsetting him earlier, Marmaduke was oblivious, his mother seemed curious at the odd tone of the conversation and Cora seemed unaware of his anger.

When she returned from the dressmaker with the girls, she had been in a surprisingly good mood. Well not surprising anymore, considering what she was apparently looking forward to. They had run into one another, quite literally, in the library. Cora only giggled, leaning up and kissing his cheek as she chastised him for being so clumsy. She looked hurt when he pulled away and muttered something about having to change for dinner.

He could barely stand to be in the same room as her. Not now, not like this, anyway.

He spent most of the evening mulling over the options in his mind. He could confront her later that night, before she ever had a chance to make her meeting, before she threw away everything.

Or he could let her go. Pretend it didn't bother him and simply let their marriage settle into the mold everyone always thought it would.

If she wanted to go, perhaps he should let her.


Dinner passed uneventfully and Robert made his way up the stairs to bed with Cora trailing a few paces behind. She reached for his hand but he pretended not to see and soldiered forward, his eyes fixed on his dressing room door.

Cora reached out for him again as they approached her bedroom. "The girls are all asleep," she murmured softly, her eyes alight and her tone full of mirth. She took a step closer and reached out to grasp his lapels.

Robert flinched and took a step backward, forcing her to release her hold. Her eyes immediately darkened again and she looked at him confusedly. "I'm going to sleep in my dressing room."

"What? Why?" Cora asked, looking utterly confused. She took a step toward him and shook her head, not understanding why he was still backing away from her.

"I would prefer to sleep alone." He replied bitterly, already turned toward his door. He didn't wait for Cora's response before leaving her out in the hallway, shutting himself in the safety of his dressing room.

He remained silent as his valet undressed him and slipped into bed desperately hoping for sleep, desperately hoping for anything that would stop the horrible imaginings. But of course he couldn't sleep, not without Cora.

He tossed and turned for hours before conceding defeat.

He needed her, as loath as he was to admit it. She didn't want him anymore, but he still needed her so very much. Still wanted her so terribly.

He crept out of bed and peeked his head into the adjoining room. Cora's soft breathing could be heard and he could make out her sleeping form on the bed. Cursing himself for being so weak when it came to her, he climbed into bed and hoped that she wouldn't wake. He didn't want to talk to her, didn't even really want to see her. He only wanted to know that she was asleep beside him.

But nothing seemed to go his way. Cora turned in her sleep, and wrapped an arm around his waist, murmuring his name as she settled against him.