By the time husband and wife were duly doctored and seen to by their hosts, it was very late (or quite early) indeed. Exhaustion had begun to overtake Cora, who sat propped against the pillows but dozed fitfully. A knock at her door brought her back awake and Violet popped her head inside the room.

"All is well?" She asked, and Cora nodded. Robert was still undressing in his room, but would be along shortly. She flinched slightly when Violet moved inside the room and closed the door behind her. She made her way to the bed and leaned a hip on the mattress. Her fingers sought out Cora's, and she inspected the younger woman's bruised knuckles. Cora waited for the inevitable telling off, but Violet merely stared at her knuckles.

At long last she turned to leave but paused at the door. "Next time, my dear, you'll do well to hit the correct man."

"Mama," Violet stopped at the door. Cora didn't call her that very often, as the word felt as foreign to her daughter-in-law's lips as it felt to Violet's ears. When she turned, Cora had both hands protectively wrapped around her middle, her expression serious.

No words were needed and Violet's eyes slipped shut as she nodded. It was an evening to celebrate, indeed.

The door closed behind her, and Cora dropped her head back on the pillows to stare at the ceiling, unable to swallow her grin.

That was how Robert found her minutes later when he joined her in the bed.

"Pleased with your brawling, are you?" He asked, drawing her slight form towards him and curling around her beneath the blankets.

"I'm sorry I hit you, Robert." She turned in his arms until they were face to face. She pressed her palm to his cheek and let her thumb wipe gently across the purpling already appearing on his cheek.

His lips split into a wide smile and he used his knee to wedge between her thighs, pulling her flush against him. "You can make it up to me."

Her hand tracked tentatively over his hip to the swell of his bottom. It still made her blush to touch him intimately, even as his grunt of pleasure made her feel powerful. She didn't rush as she slid her palms beneath the waistband of his pajama pants and this time their groan was mutual when flesh met flesh.

And yet Robert made no move to initiate more, hoping that she would take the lead. She continued her slow ministrations, trailing her fingers over heated flesh, letting his sounds of pleasure guide her. Her palms tracked over his thighs, pushing his pajama bottoms down, but then she faltered. He was always so understanding of her, so happy to guide her, and he always seemed satisfied with their nights (and days, and mornings...). Yet she still had lingering doubts, reservations, that if she was too forward, too demanding, he would be repulsed.

Her lips tracked along his throat, followed lightly by her tongue and she levered herself until they were eye to eye. The adoration reflected there gave her confidence and she dropped feathery kisses all over his face. She pressed forward into him and pushed him onto his back before settling herself on his thighs. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders and she looked down at him through curls and lashes. His smile was soft but melted into a grimace of pleasure when she stroked over him with her palm. He arched into her touch, hips moving of their own volition, and delight infused her.

"Is this what you meant by making it up to you?" She kept a steady rhythm but varied pressure, inordinately pleased to see a fine sheen of sweat bloom on his skin. His fingers gripped the bed clothes tightly, released, and gripped again. Reluctantly she withdrew her hands. Leaning back she propped herself with hon his knees and simply gazed down at him while he caught his breath. "Now you make it up to me."

He shifted their positions quickly and their shared laughter filled the room. When they were courting, when Robert was making loveless decisions about his future wife, he'd never realized it could be like this. Never knew what he might have been giving up. And yet she'd found him, and loved him, and together they were building a life together. A life filled with mutual respect, admiration, love and...a fair amount of physical pleasure.

He allowed his lips and hands to roam across the dips and valleys of her skin, eliciting soft moans and gasps. When his tongue touched her core, she nearly levitated beneath him, and her cry was hoarse. It occurred to him to hush her, to swallow her cries with his own mouth, but the sound was so rewarding. It was as if by expressing her pleasure, she amplified his.

Their bodies slid together in a learned synchrony, and she gripped his waist with her thighs. Her cries were louder, in tandem with his, each building the closer they inched to release.

Let them hear, he thought. Let them all hear.

Duneagle. December 24, 1921

Just as it had more than 25 years earlier, the party broke up on the brawl between the Earl of Grantham and the Marquis of Lothian. The only difference was this time, neither Robert nor Cora were injured in the fracas, and Ian was to be escorted off the property.

Susan looked shell-shocked as the last of the guests were escorted out.

"That wasn't the outcome you were expecting, Susan?" Violet asked, coming up behind the younger woman and looking rather pleased with her son. She did so love to watch the dramatics first hand. It quite reminded her of the time Matthew had brawled with that awful Newspaper man. And hadn't that been around Christmas as well?

When Susan finally gathered her wits enough to reply, it was weak. "You would think Robert would have sense enough to restrain himself."

"Just because Shrimpie wouldn't defend your honor doesn't mean all men would fail thus."

Susan cut her glance over to where Robert and Cora stood together, far too close, with Robert's arm around her waist and her palm on his chest.

"I shouldn't have expected better of your family." Susan turned on her heel and made to leave.

"Took the words right out of my mouth." Violet said to her retreating back. Susan's shoulders tightened as the words hit home and she hurried away from them.

"How is your hand, darling?" Cora asked her husband. Mary, Matthew, and Edith were gathered around all with expressions of varying shock and amusement.

"Oh, fine, fine." Robert was distracted by Cora in his arms, wanting nothing more than to take her back to her room and assure himself that Ian left no lingering marks on her skin. He didn't want to ruminate too long on his desire to mark her as his. There was no doubt in his mind about her faithfulness, but there was some deeply male desire to make sure she knew just how much he adored her. And how very much they belonged to each other.

He glanced around and then above, and noticed they were once more beneath the little sprig that had started the entire affair. She followed his gaze and her lips quirked into a smile.

"You're my hero, Robert." Cora stepped close to him and wound her arms around his neck, her mouth upturned and inviting.

"Aren't you tired, my dear?" Robert asked, his lips moving against her temple.

"Not in the least." She murmured back, and her palm splayed over his back briefly. "So why don't you take me to bed?"

He did not need to be invited twice. Desire for her overrode his sense of decorum and with a boyish grin and uncharacteristic exuberance, Robert swept Cora into his arms.

"Good night, family." He called over his shoulder, and Cora buried her face against his shoulder, laughter bubbling. Over her husband's back, the faces of their family were twisted in shock and mild disgust.

"Merry Christmas!" Cora called merrily, her arms around Robert's neck. It was time for them to exchange gifts.

Among other things.