It had been the perfect wedding. The sun had been shining all day, the whole county had turned out to cheer and to greet the foreign but magnificently beautiful bride on her way to the church and Lords and Ladies from throughout the country had paid their respects to the old and distinguished family of Grantham, who secured their future the moment the young heir had bequeathed his bride with the wedding ring in front of the century old altar of the church of Downton Village, where all Granthams who had come before him had married their wives and all that would come after him would marry theirs.

It had also been a rather tiring day for everyone involved, when Robert and his father finally managed to sit down in the evening for a last drink in the library of Downton Abbey.

Cora had retired almost an hour ago and as Robert looked at the clock, he realised she would be ready by now. And waiting for him. On the other hand, why should he gulp down half a glass of exceptionally good scotch whisky, which deserved to be appreciated.

Robert was a bit nervous, he had to admit it. If he was honest, he knew nothing about loving a woman, about how that should feel. He didn't love Cora, that he was sure of, but what was actually missing, he wouldn't have been able to tell. She was beautiful, oh yes, and interesting and refreshingly different from the young English women, most of which he had known for a long time. Not to mention her generous dowry.

But somehow he couldn't imagine himself in 20 years time and still find her interesting and refreshingly different and attractive. Most of the older Ladies of the english aristocracy had at some point in their lives become plump, wrinkled creatures, who had lost their appeal somewhere along the way of their marriages. All of which, quite frankly, was a complete mystery to him.

But then again, Robert didn't really believe in living "happily ever after" anyway. The marriages he knew where all marriages of convenience. In his circles, one didn't marry for love or at least not commonly so. If you were lucky, love came over time, his own parents were the best example for that, but if it didn't, well, he wasn't really bothered. When after having given birth to his children, to his son and heir, Cora became unattractive or simply tired of physical love, there would always be ways to solve that particular problem discreetly elsewhere.

At least he wasn't the type to confuse love with lust. He had seen that, too, and it hadn't ended well. Today, Robert Crawley, future Earl of Grantham, had married a woman of considerable beauty, whom he liked no less, and that had to be sufficient for tonight. And it would be. He was a man after all.

Robert stood up, put his now empty glass down and wanted to take his leave when suddenly his father, who had been staring into the fire for the last ten minutes, cleared his throat:

"Son?"

"Yes, Sir?" The tone of his father's voice made Robert feel like a 10-year-old boy again, which meant, something in him knew, that what was about to come would very probably be awkward.

"I know," Patrick continued somewhat hurried, "this won't be your first time with a woman."

Robert felt himself blushing: "Father, I do know what to do..."

"I'm sure you know what to do. But this will be different," Patrick cut him off. He didn't want to give his son this particular kind of talk.

Throughout the day, Patrick had constantly been thinking about his own wedding and how incredibly awkward his wedding night had been, because no one had dared to tell him certain things beforehand and it had taken Violet and he almost a year to discover those things all for themselves. If they hadn't fallen in love within the first months, it could have easily ended like so many other marriages he had witnessed going down the drain, because husband and wife didn't dare speak to each other. About what they wanted, what they liked, what they needed.

Patrick also knew, that the older you got, the lesser your happiness depended on how you got along in the bedroom, but it did matter throughout the first years and he had sensed, that, although his son clearly liked his new wife and might also desire her body, he wouldn't fall for her quickly. And when he did, if ever, it could well be too late. At around tea time that day he had vowed to himself not to repeat the mistake of his own father and to talk to his son.

Something in him just wanted Robert and his wife to be happy, with which he actually surprised himself.

"Cora seems to be a rather petite young woman," he told Robert. "And she adores you. Have you seen the way she looks at you?"

Very obviously Robert hadn't because his eyes suddenly widened in surprise.

"Anyway", Patrick continued, "I suspect, she will want to please you, but she won't know how. And how could she? She has never had a man, you know, like this." Patrick paused and took a breath: "And tonight, Robert, you will hurt her. Son? Are you listening to me?"

"I am, Sir." Robert managed to answer. By now his face had turned crimson. Of all the possible moments his father had chosen this one, the very last one, for this kind of speech. And apparently he hadn't finished, yet.

"But you can make it easier for her, Robert. Try to be gentle, prepare her before... you know... women can enjoy it, too, believe me, I know, and it's much more rewarding for us men when they do."

Robert could only cough in embarrassment for his thoughts were racing through his head by now. Unfortunately in the wrong direction, because he suddenly remembered all he had heard about sleeping with a virgin, about the apparently so amazing feeling of deflowering a woman. He hadn't thought of that until now. It would hurt her? How could that be?

He had slept with women before, well, two actually, and they were, well, "experienced". His first time had been nice enough, quick, though, because he hadn't managed to control himself, but then again, why should he have? Robert suddenly realised, that at the time, he hadn't wasted any thought at all on how or what the woman felt, because it had all been about him. His father and his own pals had encouraged him to do it and he had wanted to, sure, because he wanted to know how it's done. He was a grown man and he had needs.

Now his father was telling him, that he would hurt Cora? He didn't love her, true, but the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt her. On the other hand, the thought of making love to Cora, to touch her slender figure, to kiss her pink warm lips again, to taste her mouth and feel her tongue around his and then to take her, and be the very first to do so, aroused him greatly. Involuntarily he started to imagine how she would feel around him, wet, hot and - as his already married friends had told him, that virgins were - tight. Robert felt a rather familiar stirring in his nether regions and tried to hide the embarrassing but growing bulge in his trousers by crossing his hands in front of him when his father interrupted this particular train of thought:

"I'm sorry, son, I didn't mean to embarrass you," he said and Robert thought he saw something of a knowing smile, but it was so short, that he might as well have imagined it. "That was what I wanted to say." And with that, Patrick gulped down the last bit of his whisky. The speech was over, thank God.

"Thank you, father. I'll try to bear it in mind. I think, I'll retire now."

"Good night, son." Now Patrick smiled for real.

"Good night, father." Robert said and left the library, still trying to cover the front of his trousers as best he could without looking too silly and trying to maintain an appropriate speed. The stairs though, Robert took two at a time.