Part Two: As If We Were Still Children
I know a girl
Who likes to drink her coffee black
'Cause sugar no
She don't got time for that
•June 27, 1925•
Cavenham Park
2:10 PM
"Is Lady Merton here?" Violet Crawley asked the butler, who had nodded in confirmation. Mead opened the door further to let the Dowager into the estate.
"Her Ladyship is in the gardens. Shall I escort you to her, Lady Grantham?" He offered, to which Violet nodded.
"Oh yes, that would be most appreciated," the Dowager said as she followed Mead out to the garden. When they had reached Isobel, the Baroness greeted her with a warm smile.
"Cousin Violet, I wasn't told you were coming!" She exclaimed. "Shall we sit?" Isobel asked, gesturing to the table by the chrysanthemums. Violet nodded and sat down, and Mead took that as his sign to walk back to the house.
Violet sighed before she decided to speak.
"I haven't been completely honest with you..." she trailed off. Isobel furrowed her brows in confusion.
"With what?" She asked, more than a little confused.
"Igor... wasn't the only man I loved. There was another before him," Violet confessed. "This man came before the late Lord Grantham as well." Isobel's eyes widened at the admission.
The Baroness however, kept her face impassive, refusing to voice her thoughts until Cousin Violet explained further. Said cousin had stopped speaking for several minutes. Thankfully, patience was a virtue Isobel valued, so there sat with her legs crossed at the ankles and her hands folded in her lap.
"I'm listening..." Isobel prompted gently, ensuring Violet of her secrecy.
"His name was Robert," Violet whispered. "And he was my first love." The Dowager smiled wistfully, much to Isobel's confusion.
"Your son was your first love?" She asked, her brows furrowed. Violet glared at her cousin half-heartedly.
"Don't be daft," she snapped, her patience suddenly running thin. "Another man," Violet filled in the blanks for her cousin. "I was in love with another man. That man's name was Robert," Violet explained slowly, as if she were speaking to a child.
Isobel nodded, finally grasping the meaning of her words.
"You're getting slow in your age, Cousin Isobel." Violet remarked.
"Would you like to go inside? For the sake of privacy, of course." Isobel offered, to which her cousin hesitated. "He's with Dickie in London, if that's what you're thinking."
"Then, yes. I think it's best we go in," the Dowager agreed. Isobel nodded her agreement and the pair made their way back to the estate.
They had settled themselves in the drawing room, and Mead had brought in a tea tray, to which Violet was thankful for.
"So what we're you telling me earlier about another man named Robert?" Isobel prompted curiously.
"Yes," Violet sighed out. "His name was Robert Williams," she started, a wistful smile beginning to form on her lips. "I despised him at first, you know."
Isobel laughed lightly. "That's how all great romances start."
•April 15, 1856•
Manchester, England
"Who are you?" The young girl, no older than sixteen asked the person before her. "And what are you doing in my father's garden?" The young man smirked in response, refusing to answer any of her questions.
Violet had no patience for fools. And this one was slowly climbing up that ladder.
"Dear god man, do you even speak?" She demanded, her English accent thickening as she spoke. The redhead placed her hands on her hips in annoyance, huffing as she turned back to her father's cottage.
"These blooms are beautiful, are they not?" He drawled. Violet turned her head sharply, coming face to face with a boy that looked to be the same age as her.
"Yes, they are," Violet answered impatiently. "Now that you've seen our blooms, you may leave," she added, a slight edge to her voice. When he seemed like he was about to leave, he held his hand out for her to shake.
"Robert Williams," he introduced proudly and Violet raised a brow at this.
"And what do you wish for me do to with this information? Run your name in the papers?" She asked him tartly. To her surprise and great annoyance, Robert threw his head back and laughed loudly.
"Of course not," he smiled. Violet on the other hand, frowned.
"Then why are you here?" She demanded once more.
"Myosotis, what an odd choice," Robert mused. Violet narrowed her eyes at his nonchalant tone of voice. "Commonly known as Forget Me Nots. Give these flowers to a person, it means you respect them immensely." The man wouldn't stop rambling! But she didn't have the heart to stop him, so Violet figured she would just let the man tire himself out.
He looked up from the blue flowers and smirked. "Violets," he said, and there was no need to elaborate. "How very fitting," Robert commented lightly with a smile. Violet crossed her arms over her chest and arched a brow.
"Yes, that is my name. There are Violets in this garden, oh I didn't notice this. How very clever of you." She said, her voice flat and dripping with sarcasm.
"The flowers you were named after indicate a young love that is starting to blossom." Robert chuckled at his choice in words.
"I don't recall asking you what these flowers meant," Violet told him harshly. Instead of being offended, Robert chuckled quietly with a twinkle in his green eyes.
Was this man incapable of a frown? Or is he merely trying to infuriate her? Sighing heavily, she decided to try another tactic.
"May I ask what you're doing here?" She questioned, softening her voice ever so slightly. He looked her up and down in response and Violet couldn't help but snarl. "Don't look at me like that!" She snapped. The boy seemed to have some manners, since he blushed and quickly looked away from her.
"I stumbled across these blooms, and I couldn't help but get a closer look at them," Robert finally admitted after a few beats of silence.
"That is your reasoning," Violet said flatly and was rather disappointed by his answer. Robert shrugged carelessly in response. Rolling her eyes, she turned to make her way back to the cottage.
"Don't take any of the flowers," she called over her shoulder. "I worked hard on those."
•June 27, 1925•
Cavenham Park
3:00 PM
Igor stopped in his tracks as he heard Violet's voice and in the story she had told as he passed by the drawing room. There was someone before him, that much he could gather from her rather hushed conversation with the Lady Merton. This information shouldn't mean anything to him. Violet had refused to marry him on three separate occasions.
He opened the door to the guest room tiredly. He and Dickie were able to catch the afternoon train back to Yorkshire, thankfully. Sitting on the bed with a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose.
It's been over a month since he'd come face to face with Violet herself and when he finally hears her voice, she speaks of another man.
Did it hurt? Yes, of course it did. He thought to himself bitterly, ripping off the tie of his suit. Shedding off his coat, he draped it at the edge of the bed and rubbed his forehead tiredly.
Deciding he had enough for the rest of the day, perhaps the rest of his life, Igor climbing under the warm covers of the bed and slipped into an uneasy slumber.
•December 24, 1874•
Winter Palace, Russia
The Prince Kuragin watched as Irina laughed along with the Lord Grantham. He took care to notice how often she would touch his arm, or the way his eyes dipped below her collarbone. Igor scanned the rest of the ballroom, his gaze falling on a mass of auburn tresses.
He creased his forehead, trying to remember the woman's title. The "Ice Queen" is what he hears everyone call her. Women out of spite and men out of awe.
Irina didn't like that woman in particular but to his recollection, she hadn't given him a proper reason that did not run along the lines of 'she's an Englishwoman.'
Her name suddenly popped into his mind, causing Igor to smirk inwardly.
The Lady Violet Crawley, Countess of Grantham. He's heard their whispers of her.
'I hear her husband is a rake.'
'The Dowager Countess of Grantham despises her for being the daughter of a baronet.'
'Such a lovely face, isn't she?'
Ridding himself of all the rumors surrounding the Crawleys, he walked up to the redhead who had been chatting with the Tsar's daughter.
Tonight, he told himself confidently. Tonight, he would crack the Ice Queen herself.
•June 27, 1925•
Cavenham Park
3:15 PM
Isobel looked at her cousin in shock and at a loss for words. Although a part of her was also quite amused, she couldn't find the proper words to articulate her current emotions.
"You named your son--your heir, after a man you had despised and eventually fell in love with?" She asked once she recovered from her shock. Violet glared at her impatiently.
"Of all things to pick up on, that is the one you choose?" Violet said blithely, and Isobel rolled her eyes in response.
"Well naturally," she defended. "It wouldn't be too hard to connect the dots. Why else would you name your son Robert? Other than the fact he was named after the man that made you feel love for the first time, of course."
Pursing her thin lips, Violet shot her cousin a sour expression.
"Must you romanticize this situation as well?" The Dowager questioned harshly. Unbothered by her cousin's harsh demeanor, she stared blankly at Violet to get her point across. "My dear, that look isn't going to work on me and you know that very well." Violet quipped after realizing Isobel wasn't backing down.
"I know it doesn't," Isobel started cheerfully. "I just enjoy unnerving you sometimes." Violet frowned at this admission.
"And why do you enjoy doing that, pray?"
"It's fun to put you in your place sometimes," Isobel smiled brightly, causing Violet's expression to sour. "I almost never get the chance to do so, and I savor it when I do." Her smile never faltered in spite of the darkening of Violet's face.
"You're such a fox, sometimes." Violet commented, looking away forcefully. Her cousin shrugged, her smile still intact and Violet had to wonder if the woman's cheeks were burning yet. Isobel stopped laughing to herself after she had remembered another piece of information, and it puzzled her so.
"How did he get into the garden?" She asked Violet, who had noticed the quick change on her mood. The Dowager offered her no response.
"It's been nearly seven decades since I first met Robert, and I still haven't figured it out. He wouldn't tell me during our three-year affair. No that he's dead-"
"He's what?" Isobel interrupted. "We've been sitting here for over an hour and the fact that the man is dead now comes up only now?" The Baroness demanded, and Violet looked like a deer caught in headlights.
"How was I supposed to tell you? Oh Isobel, dear. The first man I ever loved is dead now and he had written me a letter nine years after we broke off and his daughter wrote me the news."
"There was a letter?" Isobel asked quite loudly, whether is was the shock or disbelief, Isobel herself couldn't tell. Violet looked at her, eyes wide.
"Oh? Did I not tell you?" She asked the younger woman innocently, and Isobel's eyes had bugged out.
"Of course you told me! Because this is how a person would react if they had already known something!" Isobel clapped back sarcastically. The Dowager Countess had the respect to look sheepish at that. "Why are you leaving these things out of your stories?" She asked, exasperated.
"Anyway," Violet continued, ignoring Isobel's question. "Last night, I received two letters up returning from Downton. One was from him daughter, the second one was from him." Isobel nodded, urging for Violet to continue.
"The letter his daughter sent me was about Robert's death. He had dementia," Isobel nodded, her face sympathetic.
"It's a very heart-breaking disease indeed," she said sadly.
"And there was another letter in the envelope, it was from Robert. He wrote it in 1868, nine years after I put an end to our affair. He was never able to send it when he was still alive. And how I wish he did." Isobel furrowed her brows in concern, noticing the smallest break in Violet's voice.
"His daughter found the letter in a box under his bed, and may God bless her, decided to send it to me." Violet said, looking off to the side. "I just wish we had more time," she whispered to herself.
"As Shakespeare once said," Isobel started, effectively drawing Violet from her trance. "Time is very slow for those who wait. Very fast for those who are scared. Very long for those who lament. Very short for those who celebrate. But for those who love, time is eternal."
"What am I supposed to do with that information?" Violet asked grumpily.
"Remember that some part of you will always love him. You gave Robert your whole heart and a part of it died with him." Isobel explained, and Violet stayed silent.
The two matriarchs sat together in Cavenham's drawing room in silence. Neither of them knew how much time had passed until Mead walked in, standing proud.
"Your Ladyship," he addressed Isobel. "Lord Merton has arrived from London." He informed her. Nodding once in thanks, Isobel turned to Violet. "Would you like to stay for dinner? We won't change." She offered her cousin, and she saw her hesitate. Realizing just who she was worried about, Isobel was quick to assure her.
"Igor doesn't dine with us if that's what your worried about." She turned to Mead. "Has Prince Kuragin even arrived yet?" She asked the butler, who nodded.
"However, Lord Merton's valet found him asleep in the guest room." He answered and this time, Violet nodded.
"Alright, I'll stay for dinner," and Isobel smiled brightly.
"Would you tell Mrs Walters that the Dowager is staying for dinner?" She asked Mead, and he nodded before before swiftly leaving the room to relay Lady Merton's request.
Isobel offered her arm to Violet, who took it with a confused expression.
"Shall we go look at the garden?" She offered, which did nothing to clear up Violet's confusion.
"What for?" She asked the Baroness suspiciously, and Isobel smirked cheekily.
"If my memory serves me correctly, we have some Forget Me Nots in the garden," she chuckled teasingly.
In a moment of childish weakness, Violet elbowed Isobel in the ribs and laughed triumphantly as her cousin groaned and doubled over slightly, clutching her side dramatically.
•tbc•