AN: I know I said I was on hiatus until season 6 finishes in the U.S. (February), but I missed fanfiction too much, so I've written a few one-shots and it was killing me not to post them. So I'll be posting a couple more chapters to this story over the next few weeks. I figured the potential for spoilers in reviews for a collection like this was pretty minimal, but please remember NO MENTIONS OF SEASON 6 in my reviews. Thank you! :-)
Cora sighed miserably and shoved the heavy duvet off again, fighting a fever that left her freezing one minute and baking the next. She'd awakened sick that morning, and the doctor had been called, diagnosing only "a mild flu, your ladyship—certainly nothing very serious." She was glad of that, but it did not make her stomach any less queasy, or her body any less achy, or her head any less painful.
But worse than any of her symptoms was how lonely she was. She'd lain in bed all day and had seen no one but her maid. By this time in the afternoon, she would usually have been out walking on the estate with Robert, her arm tucked in his as he listened to her go on about all manner of things. She also would have seen him at luncheon and would have looked forward to seeing him at dinner, and perhaps to an evening together in the drawing room, playing cards or talking quietly.
But of course, tucked away ill in her room, she would not see him at all. For while he seemed to enjoy her company well enough and never avoided her, it was she who sought out Robert and she who was in love with him, not the other way around.
Suddenly—so quietly she wasn't sure if she'd imagined it—she heard his voice call out, "Cora?"
"Yes?" she said weakly, wondering if she'd dozed off and the word had been a fragment of a dream.
It wasn't, because the door opened to reveal her young husband, looking nervous and clutching a vase of flowers. "I hope I didn't wake you," he said.
She shook her head, too surprised at his arrival to say much of anything.
"How are you feeling?" he asked after a moment, as though he was not quite sure what to say.
"Not very well." That seemed more demure than horrid or dreadful.
"I'm sorry you're sick," he said, and he truly looked it. "I–I picked these for you." He set the vase on her bedside table, and she swallowed the lump that had risen into her throat at his words. The sentiment was a kind one, but there was also something very sweet in what exactly he'd said: not "I asked for these for you," or "I bought these," or even, "I went out to the gardener and took a few of what he'd snipped," but "I picked these for you." It was not, she thought, just an expression: she was suddenly certain that Robert had gone out to one of the gardens, carefully chosen what she'd like best, and snipped them off himself.
Her thoughts were confirmed when he continued, "I remembered you always like the daffodils when we go out for walks."
Cora nodded, and when she thought she could speak again, she said, "I do, yes. Thank you."
There was another silence, and finally, his cheeks growing slightly pink at his words, he said, "I'm glad you were awake. I've missed you today."
He had?
"Would it disturb you if I sat with you?"
Disturb her?
"No, no, of course not," she stammered. "I'm not sure I'll be much use for conversation, but it would be nice to have you here, if you don't mind." But he was already carrying the chair from her dressing table over to her bedside.
"Do you need anything?" he asked before he sat down.
"Could you ring for my maid and ask her to get something cool for my forehead?" she asked. She'd been longing for a damp cloth laid over her eyes but hadn't managed to summon the strength to sit up and reach for the bell pull.
"I could get that for you right now," he said. "There's no need to wait for her."
"Oh," she said softly, "of course." Yet the idea of Robert fetching something for her himself had not seemed an obvious one, not at all.
She listened as he stepped into the washroom and ran the water. He returned a moment later with a wet handtowel, which he gingerly folded across her forehead. "Is that all right?" he asked hesitantly, and she almost smiled at his uncertainty with nursing.
"Yes, thank you," she murmured. "That's lovely."
"Could you talk to me?" she asked as he took a seat. She wanted some continued confirmation that he was still there and not a figment of her imagination.
"Won't the noise trouble you?"
"No, not if it's quiet. I just want to hear your voice. It doesn't matter what you say."
He began to speak, and she closed her eyes, letting herself be soothed by cool on her forehead and the soft sound of her husband's voice.
