AN: Thank you all for your lovely reviews. They really do brighten my day and keep the motivation flowing! Happy almost Downton day!

Dearest Mother,

I cannot begin to fathom the cost of the flower arrangement you sent. It is easily the biggest we received. Mama grumbled something about the American penchant for grandiosity, but I think it was a mighty fine gesture. Robert was certainly touched.

Usually Reverend Travis conducts Sunday services, but of course Mama had an archbishop up for the funeral mass. There were more people in that church than at our wedding, if you can believe it. Some had to stand. Almost all of the village lined the roads as the carriages made their path from the house to the church. It was a most elaborate affair, planned almost exclusively by Mama.

I don't know that the girls fully understand. Mary seems to have some inkling of what it all means. Edith is just confused and asking when grandpapa will come to see her. I know that all traditions and rituals have their place, but I wish we could do away with some of them. The black cloth covering the mirrors, the crepe over the mantels and on the door, it makes the house so menacing and macabre for the girls. Edith cries when she's led through the great hall and Mary has woken up with nightmares on a few occasions.

Robert is quite plagued and it worries me. I never really gave it much thought before, how difficult the transition would be when the time arose, how cruel it is to the psyche. Of course Robert has always known he would be the earl one day, has prepared for it. But it is one thing to be ready and altogether another to step into the role while mourning his father. He feels he will be a disgrace. At least, that is the little he has let me know. Since Papa's passing, he has been very remote, keeping to himself mostly. I fear, if he doesn't have faith in himself that he has even less in me.

I am sorry, mother, to have laid this all down. You musn't be troubled by my words. I am sure it will all work itself out, we are just in a period of flux.

Take very good care, and I love you.

Cora

Placing her pen down on the tray across her lap, Cora gently waved the paper back and forth, coaxing the ink to dry. She pictured Martha back in New York, reading her loopy script weeks after she'd penned her letter. All of her news would be old, taking its place in the past. What would their lives look like in a handful of weeks?

Folding the stationary methodically, Cora thought of what she hadn't written. She thought back to the burial the day before, standing at the gaping wound of earth that her father in law's casket would descend into. While all eyes were on the ornate coffin or the archbishop, she had stared at the tiny stone off to the left, her eyes shadowed by the wide brim of her hat. Just a small slab of granite flattened to the ground, it was unmarred and new, most likely having been placed on the grave while they were in London. If she squinted, she could make out the inscription. Baby Crawley. It had taken all of her willpower not to go to it, to stand on the patch of dirt and recall the perfect little face of her unnamed daughter.

Hastily, Cora stuffed the letter in the waiting envelope, shaking the images from her mind. It wouldn't do to dwell on such things. All of her energy needed to be focused on Robert and the girls, getting them through this period of grief. Cora ran her hand over the neatly folded bedsheets on Robert's side. He had remained last night, though neither of them had slept much. She had listened to Robert as he tossed and fidgeted. Finally, sometime around dawn, he had given up his struggles to find sleep, placed a quick kiss on her cheek and left. Cora had heard the muffled sounds in his dressing room as he changed for the day and then she had gotten up and stood at her window. Minutes later she saw his dark figure striding across the estate, his shoulders rounded against the cold. She had wanted to join him, to feel the November air burn her lungs and the blood pumping furiously under her skin to warm her. She had wanted to place her hand in the safety of his, to feel connected. Cora longed for a reassurance that they were traveling the dark road they found themselves on together.

But the instructions of Dr Clarkson had her padding back to her lonely bed and waiting out the rising of the sun.

Lifting the tray, Cora put it aside and rose. She sat at her vanity and began to take out the carefully constructed braid that held her hair in place. The metallic clicks of the door's latch preceded Jenkins arrival in her room. In the reflection of her mirror, Cora could see the maid's look of confusion at the empty bed.

"Milady, I thought you were to be resting." Jenkins said while coming to her side.

"Yes, well, I feel perfectly fine. I don't see any need to lay in bed all day." Cora said firmly, mimicking a tone that resembled Violet's.

Recognizing the inflection, Jenkins bit down the words that her mouth was just forming and simply nodded. "As you wish, milady."


Robert drummed the tips of his fingers against the oak of his desk in anticipation. Murray carefully took the large ledgers he had brought out of his leather case and placed them in front of Robert. As he started to take in the rows and rows of numbers and notations, Robert's stomach fluttered in discomfort. The room suddenly too warm, Robert pulled at his collar.

"Lord Grantham," Murray started and Robert felt a drop of perspiration well up on his forehead and trail down his face. "I hope, after we've gone through the books, you will see why this needed to be done so quickly after your father's passing."

"They cannot be all that bad, Murray." Robert laughed nervously but at the older man's pursed lips Robert's attempt at humor died and he sat straighter. "Surely Lady Grantham's dowry is still providing the estate with the funds it needs."

Murray shook his head and and the room swayed a little in Robert's vision. "The heft of Lady Grantham's dowry is disappearing at an alarming rate."

"How can that be?" Robert asked, a panic growing in time to his quickening heartbeat. "The money she came into our marriage with….it was more than one could spend in a lifetime!"

"One would think." Murray replied. "But it is not turning out to be the case. If the estate keeps eating away at the principle, that money will be gone before the next earl takes your place."

"Dear God," Robert breathed. "What has Papa done?"

Murray pointed to a few of the entries in the ledger. "These are outstanding debts. Many of the farms are losing money and the tenants are late on the rent. By months, milord. His lordship was loaning money from the estate to them and while it's kept the books in the black, it's a very dangerous trap."

"Not to mention all of the updates and repairs that have happened in the last few years." Robert added.

Robert stood up, pacing to the window. Downton had been falling down around them, some wings in such a state of decay that they had been shuttered off, home to cobwebs and forgotten glories. He remembered well the bitter embarrassment that emanated from his mother like a perfume. They had stopped hosting large weekends and parties, Violet unwilling to be the subject of gossip in London. His father had spent more and more time out in the village, on the estate, closed up in his office, as though immersing himself in the carnage of Downton would slow its decline.

And then Cora had walked into a London ballroom one spring day, a new Worth dress beautifully covering her young body and the jewels around her neck and hanging from her ears sparkling expensively. A beacon of wealth, a promise of riches. He had brought her to his country home, against his mother's wishes, and everything she touched began to shine once again.

"You know," Robert said after silence had blanketed the room, "Lady Grantham's father, my father in law, he made millions out of nothing. He was the oldest son of Jewish immigrants living in the Lower East side of New York. He had seven brothers and sisters and a grandmother squeezed into 4 rooms. Amongst the squalor he taught them all English. He went to work when he was eleven years old and didn't stop until the day he died."

Robert braced his hand against the window frame, almost talking to himself more than Murray. "Isadore Levinson made millions out of nothing and gave his only daughter a share of his fortune. My father took those millions and has reduced them to dust. What am I to tell my wife of her father's money? That it was lost? Squandered? That my father was handed a second chance and failed again?"

"No, milord." Murray said firmly. "You start doing things your way. What's been spent is gone, but you can be firm without being unkind to the tenants. They need to start producing. Any mismanaged holdings need to be gotten rid of. And you need to invest."

"Oh Murray," Robert sighed, pushing himself away from the window and looking at his lawyer. "I think I shall need your guidance."

Murray smiled wide. "And I will be happy to give it. All's not lost yet. The estate is bleeding money, but if we apply a tourniquet, cut off the dead weight, than we will thrive again."


"I am a princess! I am a princess!" Edith exclaimed, attempting a clumsy pirouette across Cora's room and falling in a heap of arms and legs. The tiara that she had stuck into her curls clattered to the floor and Cora cringed, peaking over the bed at the glittering diamonds. Luckily, the piece looked to be in tact.

Beside her, Mary sighed, a great big blow of air between her lips that lifted the fringe of her bangs off her forehead before they settled gracefully down. Cora chuckled and pulled her eldest closer, squeezing her lithe body to her own. Mary, dignified, independent Mary, had refused to leave her side since they had arrived in her bedroom. She had been in the drawing room when the two came bursting in like canons, followed by a frazzled looking Nanny March. Apologizing in a flood of words for the intrusion, Nanny seemed on the verge of frustrated tears when Cora dismissed her, saying she would spend a few extra hours with the girls. She had brought them up to her room. Edith had immediately wanted to play dress up, usually a favorite game of Mary's, but Mary had refused, staying on the bed next to where her Mama had sat.

Cora looked down, watching Mary's serious face. Lifting up her daughter's chin, Cora met her dark eyes.

"Darling, what's the matter? You are awfully quiet today." Cora coaxed gently.

"Mary was afraid to sleep last night." Edith sang as she lept like a sugar plum fairy across the room, Cora's best shawl around her thin shoulders.

"Can't you send her away?" Mary asked quietly and Cora would have smiled indulgently at her if Mary's voice didn't contain a slight tremor in it.

"Darling," Cora pulled her even closer and Mary laid her head on her breast. "Did you have a nightmare last night?"

Without saying a word, Mary nodded and wrapped her arms around Cora's waist. Cora stroked her hair and rocked her back and forth, placing kisses on top of her head. She felt Mary breathe deeply, inhaling and exhaling, until the sound turned into the steady rhythm of someone asleep. Cora waved her hand at Edith, motioning for her to stop. Seeing that Mary was napping in her mother's arms, Edith threw off the shawl and clamored to the high bed, jumping up and down, her little blond curls and her honey eyes bouncing in and out of sight behind the high wall of her mattress.

"Shhh, dearest," Cora whispered, placing a finger over her lips.

Edith began to pout, her eyes suddenly swimming with the promise of tears. "I want up."

"Hmm," Cora replied, shifting Mary carefully and leaning down. She gripped Edith tightly under her arms and hefted the girl up onto the bed. "Now you must take a nap as well if you want to stay."

"We'll all rest together!" Edith said in the loudest whisper Cora had ever heard.

Sliding, Cora guided Edith down with her and each girl curled into her side. She could feel the heat of them, the vital fires that radiated within them, that swam through their veins and for the first time in months, she felt truly warm.


Robert couldn't move. He wouldn't dare even if his feet had the ability to obey his mind, which they didn't. He had come up in search of Cora after finding her discarded needlepoint in the drawing room. Ready to scold her for not following Dr Clarkson's orders, he had been unprepared for the scene he found.

Cora lay in the middle of their bed, covered in the tangled limbs of their daughters. All three snored softly, a sweet kind of music he could listen to all afternoon. He longed to join them, to climb up and share in the comfort they so obviously drew from one another. He longed to climb up and sit vigil over them, his innocent treasures, and protect them from harm.

Stepping as lightly as he could, Robert gathered the heavy throw blanket kept on Cora's sofa and gingerly placed it over their bodies, tucking the corners around them. He took hold of Edith's arm and lifted it off of where it rested across Cora's forehead, placing it down by her side. Briefly, he touched a palm to Mary's shoulder before bending, grazing his lips over the peak of Cora's cheek. She stirred and he smoothed away a curl that had come loose.

"Sleep," Robert mouthed the word but Cora stilled, burying her face deeper into the pillow under her head.

Walking on the tips of his toes, Robert turned back one last time as he reached the door. They were dear to him, those three beauties sleeping on the bed, dearer than anything else. Suddenly, it all became clear. The blame and guilt and doubt sloughed off of him, like a shedding of his skin, and what grew in it's place was an overwhelming desire to do right by them, to make them proud. Robert became confident. He would do anything for them. He could be the Earl of Grantham they expected him to be.