Robert woke to something unusual.

Silence.

Adjusting his eyes to the morning light streaming in through the window, he turned on his side to find himself alone in bed. Cora's pillows had been readjusted and the blankets on her side of the bed were pulled up and smoothed out. But stranger than Cora's absence was the absolute silence in the room. Every morning since his return, he had woken to the sound of his daughters chirping voices, knocking wildly at the bedroom door. They never wanted anything from him, beyond waking him, and when he'd open the door they would charge past him and jettison themselves onto the bed, poking at Cora until she woke up.

But today, he had woken to silence.

He rang for his valet and dressed quickly, curious to see what he would find downstairs. Sleep had made his mind no calmer than the night before and his thoughts were still a jumbled mess of anger and confusion. Confronting Cora seemed out of the question. She would never admit to an affair, and he had no idea where he would even find the words to ask. She would do anything to spare him hurt, that much he knew, and so he was left with a resounding sadness as he rounded the last stair and found himself on the main floor of the house which seemed as silent as their bedroom had.

He almost pitied the young hall boy that nearly ran into him. But not enough to stop himself from scaring the lad half out of his wits. "Where are my daughters?" He demanded. The young man stuttered and shrugged his shoulders as he mumbled something about being unsure. Robert shook his head, angry at everything under his roof, and tried another question. "Where is my wi—Lady Grantham?" He inquired. Again, the hall boy looked bewildered and stumbled over his words.

He was just about to start shouting about the incompetence of everything and everyone around him when Carson appeared, as he often did at precisely the right moment, and intervened mid stutter.

"Milord, the young ladies have been brought to Lady Rosamund's house," he explained, dismissing the hall boy with a curt nod.

"And who on earth decided that?" Robert shouted. Carson looked nearly as bewildered as the hall boy and pursed his lips for a moment to compose himself.

"Lady Grantham brought them over about an hour ago, Milord. She took the car so that she could pay some calls afterward," he replied.

"Of course she did—" he muttered, turning on his heels and stomping back up toward the stairs.

Robert was rather surprised his feet did not put holes in the floor, as he was walking so forcefully. He slammed the door to his dressing room and paced the room. It was one thing if Cora planned to spend her afternoon and evening doing God knows what, but now she had involved the children as well. She had taken his children away. And he certainly was not going to stand for that.

The butler showed him into Rosamund's sitting room where he stood and continued to pace, the one motion that seemed a constant over the last twenty-four hours. He heard muffled voices in the hall and a moment later his sister came into the room with a surprised look plastered on her face. She was such a terrible liar. She was always one to say exactly what she felt; she found it near impossible to keep a secret.

"Robert, dear, what a surprise." Rosamund smiled and approached him, frowning slightly at his pacing but still leaning in to give him a kiss. "Is everything alright?"

"No! Everything is most certainly not alright. Where are my daughters?" His tone was sharp, and Rosamund looked even more concerned. She pursed her lips, much as Carson had done, and was about to speak when his three little girls came bounding into the room with shouts of Papa.

Momentarily forgetting the task at hand, if there even was one, Robert knelt down on the floor and opened his arms as Edith and Sybil bounded toward him, Mary walking primly behind them. "We missed you, Papa!" Sybil's tiny voice squeaked, and it was nearly his undoing. Lifting his youngest up into his arms and reaching for Edith's hand, he turned back to his sister.

"Where is Cora?" He asked quietly, distracted by the stream of chatter already coming out of the girls. Sybil's small hands were patting his shoulder, to get his attention, and Mary had started complaining about the nursery game they'd been playing.

Rosamund blanched. She motioned for the maid who was standing warily in the background and nodded at the girls. "Could you please take them upstairs?" The maid smiled, but the girls instantly began to wail, even Mary stepping closer and clinging to his trouser leg. Regaining some of his sense before things got out of hand, Robert set Sybil back down, released Edith's hand and kissed their foreheads as he instructed them to do as their aunt said. They nodded sadly but skipped off in the direction of the main hall, waving their small hands at him as they left.

Rosamund was still standing uncomfortably in the middle of the room. "Where is Cora?" Robert repeated. His low voice sounded oddly detached and he knew he must have looked half mad.

Again Rosamund was silent. But after a pause, she sat on the nearest chair and looked up at him blankly. "She had some errands to run. She didn't want to take the girls to the dressmaker again, after what happened last time, and so I told her to bring them here."

"And when will she be returning for them?" Robert's eyes narrowed, aware that his sister knew more than her expression betrayed.

"I believe sometime before dinner…" Rosamund began.

"—I am to believe that my wife brought our children all the way here so that she could go to the dressmaker, which is precisely one block from our home, by herself?" He was pacing again, and found himself growing angrier by the second. Did Rosamund know what she was up to? Perhaps she did and just did not care. She was always one to appreciate a salacious story, besides she and Cora had grown close over the years. Rosamund would no doubt be willing to keep a secret for her.

"Robert, is something the matter? If you'd like one of the footmen to go to the shop and fetch Cora I can send someone now." Rosamund was always good at keeping her cool. Her lip twitched ever so slightly but her eyes locked confidently with his and expressed her silent solidarity. She was not going to tell him anything different than what Carson already had.

"I want…" Robert's voice trailed off and he looked down at the floor, suddenly feeling a rather inconvenient lump forming at the back of his throat. "I want to take the girls home with me," he said. It was an odd feeling, to be completely defeated.

But Rosamund shook her head, rebuffing his request. "I promised them a proper tea party, surely you won't deny me that?"

Yes, Rosamund was nothing if not excellent at getting things to go how she wanted them to. A skill certainly learned from their mother, she never had any trouble manipulating those around her—and he was no exception.

Nodding his consent, Robert cleared his throat and stepped toward the door. "I'll send the car to collect them at six," he added, not looking back.

Everything seemed wrong, distorted and as if it were being refracted through the glass of someone else's life. Robert sat on the stool in the pub neither knowing nor caring what time it was, and caring even less how he must have looked to those around him. He was not drunk, unfortunately, and only sat staring into his glass of scotch. All he wanted to do was forget. But each time he moved to take a sip, an overwhelming feeling of disturbance, of violent sickness, seemed to come over him.

It was all so very wrong.

After yet another curious look from the barkeep, Robert turned around and peered out the front window of the pub. The sun was no longer shining brightly and the hoards of people that had bustled past on his way in seemed to have vanished completely.

"What time is it?" Robert muttered, digging into his pocket to settle the bill.

"Just half past five, Sir," the man replied, handing back his change.

Half past five.

Nearly six.

The Savoy. Six PM. May 24th

Cora's not flashed across his mind, unsettling his thoughts and stomach yet again. He murmured a good evening to the man behind the counter and wandered out to the street, never looking up from the ground.

Robert walked for several blocks before realizing where he was. Just one street over from The Savoy. His mind was clouded with pain and anger, but he tried to talk himself down—muttering various profanities as he got closer and closer to the building. He intended to walk right past and keep walking until he made it home. He had told Carson he would back hours ago and the girls would be back from Rosamund's soon. He needed to go home.

He needed for it to not matter that Cora would not be there to greet him.

He made it three steps past the entrance to the hotel when, as if possessed by his anger, he turned on his heels and headed for the door.

No, apparently he was not above it all. And it did matter. It mattered a very great deal. If Cora had the tenacity to leave their home and meet someone else at a hotel, well she was going to have to deal with him first.

He looked down at his watch. Nearly six.

Bounding up the stairs after being given the room number—and noting with vague confusion that she had not so much as bothered to supply a false name—he wondered if he would happen upon his wife already occupied with her someone else.

His fists contracted into tight balls and the tension in his jaw was almost painful as he approached the suite at the end of the hall. If the man were already there, he would certainly have to pay. For ruining the family Robert had worked so very hard to create, and for taking Cora from him, he would pay. Thoughts of a considerably violent nature flashed into his mind and frightened him. Was this what his life had really descended to?

He reached for the door handle and suddenly wondered what to do. He had no key, and knocking seemed rather pathetic. But when he turned the knob out of habit, and found that it clicked open, he charged through with renewed determination.

The room was covered in deep red rose petals and bathed in candlelight. The burgundy curtains were drawn shut and the bed, also covered in flower petals, was turned down for the night. There was a bottle of champagne resting near the settee and Cora's luggage was open and in the corner.

The determination he felt seconds earlier puddled at his feet when he saw his wife emerge from the washroom seconds later, her hair down in loose curls and her body wrapped in her delicate silk nightdress that had occupied so many of his dreams while away. She had been fiddling with the tie to her dressing gown but looked up when she realized she was no longer alone.

"Robert!" She cried, approaching him and releasing the ties. She reached out for his hands but he took a step back, looking at her with horror.

He opened his mouth to speak but found himself lost for words. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair. It hadn't been real until she walked through the door and looked in his eyes.

Now there was no more pretending.

"What are you doing here? It's not six o'clock yet—"

She smiled at him, though looked slightly confused, and reached for his hands again. She succeeded this time and held them tightly in her own. The feel of her soft skin against his renewed his anger, making him believe that she was trying to placate him and explain herself before he got enraged. Was she naïve enough to think he had not figured it out already?

"Why does it bloody matter what time it is? What are you doing here at all?" He roared, pulling back his hands so quickly. Cora's expression turned to one of shock and he saw her eyes begin to fill with tears. "How could you, Cora? How could you do this?"

He was pacing faster now, not even noticing that Cora backed away and sat on the chaise behind her.

"I'm sorry, I just thought—"

He interrupted her again, though, and was just about to start shouting when there was a knock at the door. Incredulous, he turned and laughed sardonically. "I wonder who that could be?" He shouted.

He caught a glimpse of the bewilderment in Cora's eyes and pulled the door open so quickly that it nearly came of its hinges.

A waiter with a large cart stood before him, looking frightened. "Room service, sir."

"I did not order any bloody room service!"

"—I ordered it," Cora replied, approaching the door and reaching into the pocket of her dressing gown to tip the man. "Thank you," she murmured, gesturing toward the sitting area. Robert stood silently as the man deposited the cart, nodded and took his leave.

Upon hearing the door click shut, Cora removed the cover from the tray to reveal several small cakes and fruits, all arranged in the shape of a heart. She turned to look at him, her eyes full of hurt. "Why are you so upset with me?" She asked. "And why did you come early?"

Robert's head was spinning. Every word that had been jumbling around his mind all afternoon seemed to freeze, making it impossible for any clear sentiment to pass: "Early?" was all he managed to say.

"My note said six o'clock?" She replied in question, re-covering the pastries and taking a tentative step toward him.

Still eyeing her warily, Robert pursed his lips and tried to conjure up something logical to say. But Cora's voice and the silk dressing gown she was wearing conspired to make him even more flustered. "What note?" His voice was suspicious.

Cora frowned. "Carson was supposed to give it to you this afternoon. You didn't get the note?"

Robert shook his head. "No, I've been out all afternoon."

Again, Cora looked confused. "Then how on earth did you know to meet me here?"

"Cora what are you talking about?" Robert yelled. His voice startled her and she backed away. He hated that she looked frightened. And he hated himself even more for frightening her. It was in that moment he knew that this had to stop. He looked down at his hands to see his fists balled tightly, his nails digging into the edges of his palms. His head was pounding and the pain that seemed to have taken up residence in his chest was aching terribly. "I'm sorry, Cora," he muttered, finally, looking up to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry for coming here and I'm sorry that I left you." His voice cracked, betraying any sense of strength he had left and he felt his knees weaken beneath him.

He looked away, embarrassed by what he had been reduced to, but felt Cora's arms around him only seconds later. His body tensed momentarily but quickly succumbed to his wife's tender touches and soft reassurances. Her hands pressed to his back and her lips ghosting just beyond his neck, he felt safe. And as if he had not been lowered enough already, he felt himself begin to cry. His tears, messy and so basely painful, fell upon the silk of Cora's garments but she seemed not to care or notice. She only held him tightly as the sobs wracked through his body.

He became vaguely aware of her movement when she led him toward the bed, sitting them both at the edge so she could sit level to him and look into his eyes. Using her thumbs to wipe away his tears, followed by a kiss pressed to his cheek, she looked softly at him.

"You never left me, Darling." Her voice was still soft, but it held a strength that he had never heard before. She sounded older, in a way, and surer of things than when they were young and unaware of life.

"You asked me not to go off to war, you said it would change things—I should have known this would happen," Robert replied, full of remorse. Oh how she had pleaded with him not to go. Her tears had soaked through his nightshirts countless times, her sobs punctuated with worries for his safety and health. And her sleep had been fraught with nightmares, often waking them both most disturbingly. But he had kissed her and promised to return; he had packed his bags and he had left.

"Darling, I was only concerned for you," she murmured, her fingers trailing gentle paths over his arms and chest. They stilled upon meeting his hands and he felt her slip their fingers together, effortlessly as ever. "But—what do you mean? What has happened?" She questioned, lines of worry etched across her delicate features.

Robert sighed, looking intently at their entangled fingers and feeling the cool metal of Cora's wedding rings pressed to his palm. "You don't have to explain," he murmured. "I understand."

"But, Robert, I don't understand. What are you talking about?"

"I love you so very much, you know." His voice was a hoarse whisper now, but his eyes remained fixed on hers. "I don't know why I haven't told you that more often. I really should have, it should not be so hard for me to say. Because I feel it so acutely," he explained, pressing their still entwined hands to his chest. "I love you, Cora, and I understand that you needed companionship, or someone to—"

Cora's gasp interrupted his musings, and she pulled one of her hands away to cover her mouth. Looking at her face, he knew that realization had sunk in.

"You think I planned to meet someone here?"

"Well, yes, I…I saw the note in the drawer of your vanity and you just seem so tired of me all the time," he replied pitifully.

"Robert, I am not tired of you—I am simply tired." She replied. "Have you interacted with our children recently? They are rather a handful. And with you not there, well, most everything fell to me. Darling, I…you really thought I came here to meet with someone else?"

Robert nodded slightly, his cheeks reddening at her frank question. "So you're not meeting someone else, then? But, I saw the nightwear in your drawer and…you never wore it for me," he added.

Cora stood and looked down at him. "Oh, Robert," she murmured. "You went through my things?"

Though embarrassed, he nodded again, waiting for her to chastise him. He still had no idea what they were doing in a hotel room, but he was quite certain that no other man would be arriving soon. He was absolutely mad, that much was clear, and had somehow forgotten that the woman standing before him, looking so very sad was not just his wife; it was Cora. Cora, who stepped on his feet while dancing and stole ginger biscuits from the kitchen for him; she was the woman who had promised to love him above all others and had bore his children. He knew her smile and face better than anyone else's. He loved her more than anything.

It was Cora, his Cora, and she would always be.

"Perhaps next time, before you fly off the handle, you could speak to your wife?" Cora's voice cut a stark contrast to his thoughts and pulled him from his contemplations. "I won't pretend that our lives have not changed, since you've been away. But if I ever gave you the impression that we were not alright, I'm so very sorry." Her tone was unwaveringly strong, but there was gentleness in her eyes and touch.

"No, don't apologize," Robert interrupted, taking her hands. "I'm so dreadfully embarrassed by my behavior. When I thought I might be losing you, I felt myself go half wild with the notion. I understand if you need time—time to forgive me. I've acted like such a fool."

"Yes, you have," Cora replied evenly. But looking up into her eyes, he saw they were filled with mirth. "But I won't have anyone speak about my husband in that manner." She smiled slightly and leaned down to kiss his lips, her fingers playing at starched material of his shirt.

Impetuously, Robert threw his arms around her, grasping tightly to his wife and making silent thanks that everything was all right. He would apologize again, of course, and again after that. He would apologize until she begged for him to stop.

"Cora?" He asked, finally. "Why are we here?"

"If you had read the note that I left for you, instead of traipsing around the city you would have your answer," she replied. She laughed, unguardedly, and kissed him once more before explaining. "Don't you remember? I wrote to you, months ago around Valentine's Day. I promised that once you returned we would celebrate properly."

"Did you? I'm sorry, I read your letters so many times but more often than not I was so glad to see your handwriting that I did not pay much attention to the words on the page…and well, this," he said, gesturing to the flower petal covered room, "is more than I ever expected."

"I wanted to make you happy," Cora whispered, sliding down into his lap.

"Like we were before the war?" Robert asked.

Cora shook her head, brushing a lock of hair from his face. "No, like we always are," she replied. "You must know, Robert, I'm not unhappy. Exhausted, and at times exasperated, but never unhappy. Our lives have changed; we've grown up, Darling. But that does not make me unhappy—it makes me proud of us." She frowned slightly but leaned into him, pressing their lips together to accentuate her point.

"Do you promise?" His voice was tentative and soft against her cheek where his lips explored her skin. She murmured something low, a hum from the depth of her throat and nodded as he kissed her again.

"Always," she answered, burying her head against the curve of his neck. "Always."

A/N: There will be two more chapters. Don't forget, this story is rated "M" after all ;)