A/N: For several reasons, including a busy schedule and rethinking my original outline for this story, I've decided to compress the material into this final chapter. Thank you all so very much for reading and reviewing!

February 14th, 1892

The storm stopped rather unceremoniously, late in the afternoon.

Accustomed to seeing white every time they looked out the windows, neither staff nor family noticed the parting clouds or the rays of sunshine edging their way through. After weeks of heavy snow, harsh winds, and a dark pall that had decamped at Downton, it seemed unusually peaceful outside.

And inside as well.

Two weeks earlier the storm had brought everything to a crashing halt. But just as quickly as everything stood frozen, waiting for it to clear, everything started back up again, working with machine like precision to get the house back in order. The fires were stoked to warm the rooms back up, as everyone had been confined to their bedrooms as of late, and the servants made quick work of clearing the main entry way and paths.

In stark contrast to the bustle below stairs, the family upstairs had been sequestered in their respective bedrooms for several days. Maids would flutter in and out with fresh tea, or footmen to add logs to the fires, but beyond that there was little movement in the dark hallways connecting the rooms.

Patrick and Violet had taken to spending their afternoons separately, as they found neither could stand the tense air when they happened to find themselves in the same space. Their meals were brought up separately and their individuals fires seen to by separate footmen.

There was gossip of the strife between the Lord and Lady of the house, but the servants hadn't a clue as to what the cause might be.

For they had not heard the hushed whispers, stifled by the crackling fire and spoken in a low tone only passed between husband and wife. They had not heard Violet's sharp reprimand of their son in law's inability to care for his wife and her even sharper criticism of Rosamund's choice of husband. Uncouth, she had called him; suggesting that perhaps he should have sought out a wife from one of the factories his family owned, instead of poaching their daughter away from the life of a proper aristocrat.

If the servants had been listening, they would have heard Patrick's terse reply and the slam of the door joining the two rooms.

The door that had not been opened or passed through since then.

Marmaduke and Rosamund had taken to spending much of their time together, only sneaking downstairs for books or brandy from the library. They rarely rang for the servants and truth be told it was a relief downstairs, as the giggles that came from their bedroom suggested they most certainly should not be disturbed.

Even Cora had taken note of her sister in law's breathy laughter floating down the hall most scandalously the afternoon after their talk. She stopped for a brief moment, the laugh giving her pause, and smiled to herself—content with the realization that perhaps even after great sorrow and sadness there could be happiness again. After all, she knew now more than ever that Rosamund and Marmaduke did not have a monopoly on pain. Eventually she and Robert would be tested as well; eventually there would come a time when their lives would be tainted with the harsher realities of the world. All she could hope was that their love would see them through, as it had done so for Rosamund and Marmaduke.

Cora and Robert had remained mostly upstairs as well, though their faces were the most frequently seen during the latter days of the storm. They could often be found taking short walks outside, bundled in heavy woolen hats, or even in the drawing room, sitting close to the fire and speaking so softly the words were lost to anyone but them. The words, soft murmurs of affection and gentle teasing, were whispered ear to ear, their lips pressed close to the other in an attempt to relay the messages as fully as possible.

They family had not reconvened for a formal dinner since the great outburst at the start of the storm. Each couple seemed to have a new excuse each night since, whether it be illness or fatigue, they had all managed to avoid gathering in confined spaces all together for any long period of time.

The one exception had been luncheon two days earlier. Seemingly surprised to see one another, each person wandered into the room looking far more bewildered than they had upon entering, and sat silently picking at their food, gazes all carefully fixed on various points in the room hoping that no one would try to disturb the relative calm. Patrick checked his watch for the time nearly every minute. Violet inspected the lace on her sleeve as if it was about to jump right off the fabric. Marmaduke and Rosamund had anchored themselves at the opposite end of the table and chatted quietly about making plans to return to London once the storm slowed. And Robert and Cora sat between them all, wondering when precisely they had become the most even-keeled couple in the house.

It was Cora who broke the silence.

Setting her glass down with an overstated flourish, her simple words, "I have an announcement," caught the attention of everyone at the table, including her husband.

No one replied, but all looked at her curiously as she took a pause before turning her gaze up and down the table. "I've planned a little dinner party for Valentine's Day and I expect you all to be in attendance."

Violet nearly scoffed at her daughter in law's bizarre assertion of authority but felt her husband's gaze on her and so instead kept her counsel, focusing her attention back to the intricate lace that grazed her wrist.

"Darling, I don't know if it is considered a party if we are the only guests," Robert suggested gently, though smiling at his wife's attempt to bring a bit of brevity to the horribly silent room. Judging by the impetuous expression she wore, he knew she had just thought up the idea as she sat there eating her lunch. He could always count on Cora to assuage the pain in any situation, or at least for her to try her very best to spare him any discomfort. And this was no different.

But she brushed him off with a teasing wave of her hand and insisted that she had the entire thing under control, refusing to divulge any details other than that everyone was expected to dinner on the fourteenth at eight P.M. sharp. To both their surprise, they were met with no opposition and the luncheon continued in a silent détente, no one willing to break the fragile calm that had descended over them all.

And so as the snow slowed outside their windows, Cora readied herself for her carefully planned fete.

Thrown together in only two days, and with the dwindling supplies still found in the kitchen, Cora had somehow managed to work alongside Cook to plan a menu she was absolutely sure would please everyone. She had even convinced Robert to sneak down to the wine cellar to bring up a few of the vintage bottles meant for special occasions. Her bright eyes and soft kiss had easily persuaded him and he had returned not thirty minutes later, three pilfered bottles hidden beneath his jacket.

Cora sat at the vanity fussing with her hair and making last minute adjustments to her dress. She wanted the night to be better than those that had come before, as of recent. She was rather tired of everyone walking around on eggshells and knew that though the pains they inflicted upon one another would never be forgotten, some happy memories could go a long way in burying them a bit deeper, at least.

She so desperately wanted some happy memories. And tonight she intended to create some.

Robert entered the bedroom and interrupted her musings, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck and humming softly against her skin. "You look beautiful, my darling one. Absolutely glowing. A vision," he enthused, taking her hands until she stood so he could twirl her around and admire her more completely. "Beautiful," he confirmed once more.

Cora's grin set the room alight and her hands found their way to his dinner jacket, smoothing the minor creases and adjusting his tie. "You're quite dashing yourself, my sweet husband," she replied. He always did look ever so handsome in his dinner jacket and knew just what to say to make her blush.

Offering her his arm, they headed out of the bedroom and down to the party.

Cora's guests were all seated around the absurdly over decorated table when she and Robert arrived in the dining room. The deep red tablecloth she had selected was lying beneath the cream colored plates and tall candles that she insisted were absolutely necessary—they were far more romantic than the usual dinner table accouterments. And most amusingly of all, for Violet at least, were the tiny paper hearts scattered haphazardly across the length of the table.

"I cut them out myself," Cora offered proudly as she took her seat across from Robert and noticed Violet staring intently at her decorations.

Violet snapped up and settled her gaze on Cora.

Cora, who suddenly looked so very young and hopeful, sitting before her, surrounded by her homemade paper hearts, only smiled softly back at her. There were countless things she could say about the décor; things she could mention about the utter American nature of it all, or what a mess it looked, strewn about her formal dining room. But Cora's bright eyes seemed to lock her tongue, allowing her to only nod slightly and her lips to upturn in a smile. "It's very festive," she replied finally, and felt rather guilty at the look of sheer excitement on Cora's face upon receiving such minor praise.

Violet knew that everyone else was watching her warily, still waiting for a biting retort, but she would not give them the satisfaction of being proved right, nor would she be the cause of Cora running from the table in tears again. Pragmatic, she certainly was, but cruel was not a trait she had ever wanted to be ascribed. Looking at her family before her, she realized with startling clarity that her desire to make them all happy, to make them the envy of London society, had been for naught. For although she sat at the table in a position of power, Lady Grantham who ruled as queen of the county, she knew that if they had the choice, not one of her dining companions would willingly choose to have a meal with her, lest they risk the possibility of her upsetting them all yet again.

She sipped her wine, which tasted far better than what was usually served with dinner, and resolved to behave herself. She resolved, though it would likely never work, to apologize to her daughter…to both of her daughters. Because looking at them both sitting before her, laughing with their husbands and tossing paper hearts at one another, she so very desperately wanted them all to be happy.

Dinner was incredibly well executed and the conversation flowed as the courses were brought out every so often, each plate adorned with larger cutout hearts that Cora had made to go along with her table decorations. And each time Violet failed to comment on their presence on the plates, the mood of the room seemed lighter and lighter.

They laughed about the possibility of being snowed in at Downton forever and gossiped about the neighbors who had probably killed one another or gone insane after being shut inside for so many days. Cora laughed unguardedly and spoke of winters in New York, punctuating her stories with loving glances at her husband, and, every so often, kind smiles at Violet and Patrick or Rosamund and Marmaduke.

After hearing about the winter where Martha Levinson slipped halfway down Fifth Avenue, Violet interjected with a story of her own. "I remember the first time Robert went out into the snow, when he was just a little boy," she began.

Everyone paused, waiting for her to make some remark about the lack of grandchildren in the room, but her eyes had a faraway look as she smiled down at her plate and continued. "Rosamund escaped from the nursery one afternoon and found me in the library, insisting that their Papa take them out to play in the snow. Well, little Robert came toddling in the room following after his sister and chattering on about how he had been promised a trip outside. They were both so very small," she explained, looking up her now very adult children, "but I was won over by their insistent pleas and Robert's chubby little face. I had Patrick take them outside with the sleigh and didn't see them for nearly two hours. By the time they returned they were all so red nosed I was sure I'd never be able to let them out of the house again," she murmured, chuckling to herself.

Violet turned up slightly to meet the soft expression painted across her husband's face. "I remember the day," he replied quietly, looking down the table at his children. "You two insisted that we find the biggest hill, and Rosamund—you had me trek out to the forest before you were satisfied." Patrick, too, smiled a faraway smile and fell silent, leaving the other guests at the table sitting quietly.

"I remember it too, Mama," Rosamund said, looking up and smiling ever so slightly. Violet looked up at her daughter, her very grown up daughter, who just yesterday it seemed was sneaking into the library with red curls and mischievous giggles, and wanted to weep with the horror of it all. Her children, that she had cared for and groomed so carefully to prepare them for life, they sat before her completely out of her control. She could no longer manage their pain, and their lives would be lived with her as a minor character, an outlier that need not be consulted at every turn. But they looked so beautiful sitting before her, with their father's soft blue eyes and her pale skin. Even if they grew to hate her, even if they already did, they would always be hers.

The conversation was eventually drawn away from the past and instead fell upon the future. Patrick reached for his wife's hand under the table as he discussed his plans to open the London house a bit early in the coming months, and everyone listened with excitement as Robert and Cora pondered a trip to New York to see her parents sometime in the spring.

And before they all retired to the drawing room, Cora raised her glass in celebration, so very pleased at the success of her party, and offered a toast of good health and promise for the coming year. Everyone smiled sweetly genuine smiles as their glasses rose as well, and they moved as a group to the other room, talking of opening champagne in honor of the holiday and of the end of the storm.

Many bottles of champagne were popped, indeed, and nearly two hours later, the party had disbanded to a rather deconstructed affair. Patrick and Violet stood in the corner, both leaning against the wall for support and murmuring unintelligible things that no one else could bother trying to make sense of. It had been a long time since either had consumed alcohol in such excess and upon draining their last glasses, they linked their arms together with a raised brow and headed in the direction of the stairs, bidding slurred goodnights to their children as Patrick muttered something about ending their Valentine's Day on an exciting note.

Rosamund merely chuckled at her drunken parents, no doubt already planning how to bring up their utterly hilarious behavior at breakfast come morning. But when her husband led her to the corner of the room, letting his hands rest on her hips and his voice whisper scandalously exciting things into her ear, any other thoughts quickly dissipated from her mind, and not ten minutes after her parents, Rosamund led him upstairs—intent on making their Valentine's night a happy one as well.

Finally Robert and Cora, settled on the sofa wrapped loosely around one another, found themselves alone in the warm drawing room, a crackling fire and a few near empty bottles of champagne their only remaining party guests.

"You were wonderful today," Robert whispered, peppering kisses to her forehead, "the dinner was wonderful. It was all…" his voice faltered, not finding words appropriate enough to sing her praises and so instead he held her a bit closer, relishing in the comfort he drew from her embrace and the soft hums of pleasure she released every few minutes, obviously content as well.

"Do you think we'll all be alright, Robert?" Cora asked after a long pause, shifting in Robert's arms to look him in the eyes, needing to end the night with a certainty.

He nodded and kissed her lips but said nothing for a while, sitting back in contemplation as his hands made lazy passes up and down her arm. "Yes, I think that we will all be alright," he replied finally, weighing the words as they slid off his tongue. Seemingly pleased with his own certainty, he nodded once more and kissed his wife again to seal the promise firmly.

Cora murmured in agreement and rested her head against his chest, wondering if their lives would go back to normal after the snow melted and everyone found their comfortable routines again. Would they pass over these two weeks as though they had never happened? Pretend they were a blip of confusion or of brief madness in the schemes of all their lives? Or could they find a way to remember? To remember the pain and the anger and happiness—and to hold on to it so as to never repeat their pasts again?

She did not know.

She did not know what would happen come the light of morning or the change of winter to spring. There was no one who could predict and no one who could promise that things would always be alright.

But for the night, wrapped in Robert's arms in their home, surrounded by their family, all was right and so they could have a respite from the plans for the future and the worries of what might come.

She could kiss her husband, and lean into his strong embrace. She could whisper in his ear "take me to bed," and let him carry her up the stairs in happy compliance. And they could shut their door, lay in bed together and make love, pretending for just a bit longer that they were the only two who occupied their starry world.

And that is precisely what they did.

The inhabitants of Downton went to bed calmer, perhaps wiser, and happier.

None cared to question the peace they had found, nor were they interested in testing the rough waters comprised of things left unsaid. Content to let it all lie where it would, they found comfort in themselves and in each other, instead.

Life picked back up rather quickly. Snow was cleared and soon melted, leaving bright green grass and blooming flowers in its wake.

Broken tree branches were cleared away to make room for new plantings, and the storm's path of destruction was soon erased from the landscape. It's tangible impact could no longer be seen from the windows of the house and by the end of winter the last of the wood taken from the jagged branches had been burned in the fireplaces, heating the house and enveloping in warmth.

Months passed and memories of the storm faded to past. Blurred with the busyness of spring, no one could seem to remember the details of their two weeks unless hard pressed for recollections

Perhaps it was better that way.

Early summer brought days darker than any of them could have ever anticipated, with Patrick Crawley dying early one morning just after the sun had risen and the day's tasks begun.

The house transitioned into mourning and greeted its new Lord and Lady, the young couple who had been thrust at one another, but now could think of nothing they wanted more than to cling to one another for support. They stood side by side, grasping at the other for strength as summer melted to autumn and they watched Violet move to the Dower House, her presence in the house a constant reminder of the impermanence of life.

They watched from afar as Rosamund and Marmaduke settled back into their lives, mourning passing into daily routine and before long parties and social events filling their London house with constant regularity once more.

They spent little time in the house all together after those two weeks in February. The better part of the year passed in a blur, no one stopping to wonder where the time had gone. But they did make an exception late one November evening. Just a little over nine months after their Valentine's dinner, they came together once more and sat decamped in the library, popping champagne and toasting excitedly, just as a very light snow began to fall outside. No one noticed the first signs of winter, though, nor did they remark on the slight chill in the air. Wide smiles and cheers louder than could ever be deemed appropriate rang through the halls.

For upstairs, only moments earlier, Lady Mary Josephine Crawley made her way into their world.