Where We Belong

Robert's heart pounded as he dismissed Bates that evening. He seemed to sense the tension and did not make his usual friendly commentary. Robert appreciated the conversations with his friend and valet. He even more appreciated when that friend understood well enough to keep to himself.

When he was left alone, he hesitated. It would be the first night he would be going to sleep beside Cora since…well, since a lot of things. She had been so terrible sick with that ghastly flu, and O'Brien had not let Her Ladyship's bedside for barely more than a moment. Robert had not been permitted to be too close to his wife until she was well and truly recovered, which was certainly for the best.

For while his darling Cora had been barely clinging to life, Robert had been next door in his dressing room with Jane, the maid. The very thought of it now caused bile to rise in his throat. It had been a moment of madness. Absolute madness. And he had wanted, so much, in that moment. He had forgotten everything except for that lovely young woman who looked at him so gently and with such care, and he had been lost to her innocent charms. And knowing what had nearly come about from such madness now made him sick.

Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, endeavored above all else in the world to be a good man. And that over the last days—weeks, months—Robert had given into his weakness as a man and forgotten to be good.

But now it had passed. Cora was well. Jane was gone. The war was over. Matthew had lost Lavinia and was shattered, but they would all pick up the pieces and carry on. And the first step was for Robert to walk through that door and get into bed with his wife. To put things back the way they should be.

Not wanting to dwell on his cowardice and failures any further, Robert squared his shoulders and opened the door. He tried to feign his way through normalcy as best he could, entering quietly and looking to the bed where Cora was already sitting up with her book as usual. She put her book down and smiled softly at him.

Perhaps it was because he was already a bit vulnerable through all this, but he was unprepared for the way her gentle expression nearly bowled him over. He had the strangest urge to weep. To hold her in his arms and never let her go. To beg her forgiveness for his grievous mistakes. Instead he merely responded with a rather tight smile of his own.

Robert tried to think of something to say, but he could not seem to find the words. He removed his dressing down and slippers as he usually would and went to his side of the bed. The butterflies in his stomach increased with each step.

"I'm sure you saw to it that Jane got a good reference when she left," Cora said softly.

Her words caused ice in his veins. "I—" He didn't know what to say.

"It's best that she left. For her and for us. I hope it wasn't too difficult."

This was something from a horrific nightmare, surely. "I don't know what you mean," he said. His voice cracked, betraying his discomfort. Though the fact that he was standing frozen beside the bed without having gotten into it was evidence enough of that.

"O'Brien knows everything that goes on in this house, Robert. That's why I've kept her on all this time. I know no one else likes her or trusts her, but she is the reason I am alive right now. And she informed me that while I was delirious with fever, you were seen bringing Jane, the maid, into your dressing room. And she was seen leaving looking slightly disheveled and blushing and breathing heavily. And the next morning, she resigned. She spoke to you in the library and left with tears on her cheeks. Now, with those facts before me, what should I deduce?"

Robert had never fainted, but he thought he might in that moment. Cora looked at him without anger. Her voice was calm. Her eyes, her beautiful blue eyes that he loved so very much, were filled with sadness. She had found out and she had been hurt. And in all the years they had been married—nearly three decades—Robert had tried more than anything else to ensure that she was never hurt. He really had tried to make her happy, even when he did not know how. He was a good man, and good men fulfilled their duty to be good husbands. Robert had never once dallied, never been unfaithful to Cora. Well, he never imagined he ever could, not once he figured out how to love her properly, once he figured out that his feelings for her were in fact a deep and passionate love that had only grown over their years together. Not until the war and until Jane had Robert been tempted away from his wife. And now she knew. And she was hurt.

When he did not respond, she continued, "I don't need you to make excuses to me. I just don't like when things are unsaid between us. I didn't want to keep it from you that I know."

He swallowed back the lump in his throat as the panic threatened to overtake him. "Should I sleep in the dressing room?" he asked. Robert could feel his whole world crashing down around his ears. But more so than James and Patrick's deaths and the shame of his wartime service and all the other terrible slights over these last years that had chipped away at the security in his life and identity, the prospect of losing Cora—first the fear of losing her to illness and now the fear of losing her to his own folly—was far more fundamental than anything else. It was a threat that he had never before faced and one he could not face. He survived everything else. He did not think he could survive this. He wouldn't want to.

Cora looked at him curiously, her brow furrowed in concentration. "That first year of our marriage was perhaps the worst time of my life. I was young and I gave up my country and my life to marry a man I loved. A man who, after our honeymoon, made it very clear that he did not love me. I was alone and I was criticized for my failings at every turn by your parents and by you. I was lost and neglected and afraid, and the magical fairytale of love that I had imagined on our wedding day had fallen apart. I came to grips with the fact that I would have no fairytale. I resigned myself to bearing your children and learning how to be a countess, and I reminded myself that I was lucky that you were at least kind, which is much more than other women in my position faced. When I figured out that you did not love me, I imagined that my future might be like this. That I might find out that my husband had dalliances with other women. And I assumed that was another thing I would have to learn to accept. But once I was starting to come to terms with the reality of what my life would be, you somehow managed to fall in love with me. The change in you and in us was more than I ever dreamed. It was every fairytale fantasy I had imagined and so much more. We have had our hardships, I know, but on the whole, we've been so happy. I never thought that we would go back. I thought that you would always love me and I would never have to hold my head up and look away when my husband had affairs like so many of my friends have to do. But I suppose I was wrong."

Robert's mouth went dry. He thought that tears were perhaps pricking his eyes, but he paid them no mind. Her words, so soft and earnest, were more than he could bear. He could not let her go on thinking that they had fallen so far from where they had been. "I let things go too far with Jane. I will admit to it, as much as it shames and humiliates me to do so. But there was no affair. There may have been. We…well, the intention hardly matters."

"Yes it does, Robert," Cora snapped.

His breath caught in his throat at her change in tone. But it was not anger. It was hurt. More hurt. He would have to tell her everything. "You're right. I saw a young widow with a son who was kind and gentle and concerned with my thoughts and my feelings at a time when I was alone and neglected and useless. It is not an excuse," he said quickly, for Cora had said she did not seek excused from him and he would offer none. "It is merely an explanation. And I kissed her. It was a mistake the first time in happened. And it was a worse mistake when I took her to my dressing room that night. It was madness and there is no excuse for it. None at all. I know it isn't unusual for a man of my position, but we both know that it is unusual for me. I never imagined, even in that first year of our marriage, that I would ever do such a thing. I took so much from you, Cora, and I never wanted to give you any reason to be put through more torment."

"But you did. After all these years." The lamp at her bedside caused the unshed tears in her eyes to shine. It might have been beautiful if it did not make Robert's heart ache in his chest.

"I know," he said. "And I cannot undo what I have done other than to assure you that a few kisses was as far as anything went. And as soon as I was told of how sick you were, I was at your side. You were delirious at that point, but I was there with you."

"O'Brien said you were," Cora said quietly, nodding.

"I am grateful for the care she gave to you. And I thank God for two things from that dreadful night."

"Two things?"

"First and foremost, I am thankful that you are alive and well. You are my very heart, Cora, and despite everything else, that has been true since the moment I realized it at Christmas of 1890."

Her lips twitched slightly, but she did not smile. "And the second thing?"

"I am thankful that I was prevented from going further towards making the single worst mistake of my life. The madness and whatever comfort or desire I thought I could feel in that moment pales in comparison to the hurt that I know I have caused you. I had hoped to spare you of knowing. Truly, I did not want you to be hurt."

She nodded, swallowing hard. "Very well," she said in a soft, strained voice.

He felt the adrenaline dissipate, and he was left with the gnawing guilt that had been present since the moment he was told of Cora's fever that night. "I shall leave you in peace, then." He turned to gather his dressing gown again and go back to his dressing room.

"Robert?" Cora called to him.

He turned back to her. "Yes?"

"Do you love me? Truly? Even after everything through the war and everything else?"

The fact that she had to ask him that question was perhaps what hurt him more than anything else. He had hurt her and he had caused her to doubt. Twenty-nine years of marriage, nearly all of it marvelously happy, and he had put doubt in her heart. Doubt of him.

Robert looked at his wife's face and saw her expectant expression. There were no tears in her eyes now. They were clear and bright and intelligent as always. Her delicate brow. The rise of her cheekbones a bit sharper now than in their youth, the suppleness of her skin having been lost to age. The small lines around her eyes and in her forehead and around her mouth, lines borne of decades of laughter and joy and sorrow and hardship and everything else that they had shared. The curve of her lips that he knew better than anything else in this world. The number of kisses they had shared was immeasurable. And all he wanted in all the world now and always was to know that there were more kisses to come.

"After everything, Cora," he said, slowly and as sincerely as he could manage, "I still love you. I could never do anything but love you. Which I am sure sounds like a hollow thing to say now, but regardless of this or anything else, I shall love you until my dying day."

An eternity passed in a single second as he waited for her to respond. "Come to bed," she murmured.

"Are you certain?"

She nodded. "That first summer we were married, I wrote to my mother and told her of the difficulties that I was having. And she wrote back saying that perhaps I had made a mistake. And when I was made even more upset by that statement than anything you had done over the prior six months, I knew what I have always known: I'm right where I belong. I belong here at Downton with you. And you belong right here, too. In bed beside me. Even after everything."

Robert did not know what to say. He was utterly blown away by her kindness, her understanding, her strength. But then again, that was Cora. For all that she was so very beautiful and gentle, it was the strength of her heart that had been what drew him to her. What he fell in love with.

He took two steps back to his side of the bed and pulled back the covers to get inside. Cora put her book aside and turned out her lamp, turning over to face him. "One terrible mistake in thirty years is not the end," she said. "We have had a long, happy life together, Robert, and I intend for it to continue to be much longer and to be happy again. That's all I want."

It took him a moment to turn out his lamp and settle himself beside her. Tentatively, he reached out to stroke her cheek. She nuzzled against his touch. "No more mistakes like this. Never again, Cora, I swear it."

"Go to sleep, Robert," she whispered.

He would not try to kiss her, much as he wished he could. Now was not the time for that. But he did ask, "May…may I hold you?"

Cora scooted herself closer to him. "Yes, please," she answered. He wrapped his arms around her, and she sighed with contentment. "I think we would do better to hold each other a little tighter from now."

Robert quite agreed. And with Cora cuddled with him like this, he fell asleep rather quickly as all the stress and torment started to melt away. Just like this, right here, this was where they both belonged.