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Chapter 27 – May 1889

She is pleased she had already returned her teacup to the table, it saved the embarrassment of her mother-in-law seeing how unnerved she made her. She does not know about flowers. Well, she knew a surprising amount about how plants were constructed and how their roots and petals were designed for maximum chance of survival, but she knew that the information was not something her mother-in-law was going to be interested. Lady Grantham was interested in and flower arranging and which ones were hardest to grown in Yorkshire, not the science of them. These were not things she knew about. She blames herself, she had been shown these things – her mother had made sure that the almost boy's education her father had insisted on had been supplemented by dancing and other ladylike activities – but had failed to retain them. They had seemed so boring compared to the literature, history and science. She regrets that now as she lifts her eyes to meet Lady Grantham's.

"I can't say that I know Lady Grantham."

"No. I thought not. There is a good book in the library that contains all the relevant information. I will find it for you later. The flower show is a very important event in the Downton year so we must make sure you don't look ignorant when we get there." Cora gulps, according to Lady Grantham, every event was important in the 'Downton year' and for every single one Cora seemed to fail at coming up to the expected standard of knowledge, etiquette, dress, or all three, that was required. "The other thing to know about the flower show is about the awarding of the Grantham cup. Since it was Patrick and I that began the flower show, as a tribute to his father, it is traditional for the Grantham cup for best bloom in the village to be awarded to my mother-in-law."

"Surely the cup should just be awarded for the best bloom?"

"No, not all my dear. You see, this is where you are failing to understand the role of tradition. The people of Downton all know that the invention of the flower show was Patrick and I's tribute to his late father and therefore, his widow should always be represented in the awards. It would be quite wrong to not honour that." Cora furrows her brow, it made no sense to her, what was the point in having a flower show, and prizes for the winners if they did not in fact award the best flowers? "Besides, flowers happen to be something that Mary is actually capable of understanding. She usually does produce the best bloom. More's the pity." The amnosity between Lady Grantham and Robert's grandmother had not gone unnoticed by Cora. She had spent enough time with both of them to know they were not fond of each other. Cora wondered if it was a pre-requisite, to marry someone whose mother was not to one's taste?

"Yes, I have seen her gardens."

"I don't doubt you have, on your all too frequent visits to see her. You shouldn't indulge her you know. She is not a good teacher for you." Cora says nothing, she would not be drawn into the long-standing disagreement between Lady Grantham and her mother-in-law. Neither of them would win in persuading her to take sides. Mary might have provided her with emotional support in a way that Lady Grantham never would, and thus allied herself to her, but Cora knew that she could not afford to fall out with Lady Grantham. They had years of life to live together yet, decades of living in the same house – it would be exceptionally stupid to not remember that and behave accordingly. "We can go through the rest of the flower show tomorrow in the hall, I will show you the layouts and the judging sheet. For now, though, I thought you could join me in the kitchens to go through the menus for this week's dinners and Rosamund's wedding."

"Rosamund's wedding? Is she not deciding the menus for that?"

"She has, but I have a couple of changes I would like to make and it would be good to explain those to you. Also, providing food at a wedding is different to the average dinner, and it would be good for you to see the differences." Cora isn't sure which part she finds more worrying – that Lady Grantham was possibly making changes without Rosamund's approval or the fact she has clearly overlooked that there isn't likely to be a wedding at Downton for a couple of decades.

She follows Lady Grantham across the hall, and through the green baize door. She had never ventured into the servants' quarters. Stepping through the door the change is almost shocking. The stairwell is drafty, and she shivers. She pulls the door shut behind them. The stairs are narrow and uncarpeted. Her footsteps echo up the twirling staircase as they descend. There is a mirror at the bottom of the stairs, and she finds herself briefly wondering what that might be for. To the right of the mirror is a doorway though which she can see the bell board and a large table – clearly that was where the servants ate. The ceilings are low, and the corridors dark, despite the candles blazing at regular intervals. She follows Lady Grantham around to the right in the direction of the sounds of water running and clattering pans – the kitchen.

The stairway had been drafty, and the other rooms and corridors had looked dark, but the kitchen is fairly light, light shining in from the narrow windows high in the walls. The work and the clatter that goes with it comes to a stop as they step into the room. They all stand to attention, pausing in their work, straightening their backs. One of the younger kitchen maids appears to nervously reach up to move a stray piece of hair under her cap.

"Lady Grantham, Lady Downton." An older lady steps towards them. Cora presumes this to be Mrs Yardley who she knows to be the cook. Mrs Yardley is about the same height as Lady Grantham, but Cora would have said she was older, probably in her sixties. Her face is flushed, probably from the heat in the kitchens, but it is round with crinkles etched at the corners of her eyes. She had heard Robert speak fondly of the cook, and looking at her now, Cora thinks she can see why. She appeared to be very homely. No doubt as a young boy running about in a house where his mother was so prim and proper the cook who provided warm smiles and sweet treats had offered Robert more in the way of motherly affection than he was used to.

"We've come to discuss the menus for this week and to address a couple of things regarding Lady Rosamund's wedding."

"Of course." She nods back towards her young staff, who return to their work. "We could sit in Mrs Johnson's sitting room, if that would be more convenient?" The cook gestures across the hall to what must be the housekeeper's sitting room.

"Yes, thank you. It will be easier to show things to Lady Downton." They cross the hall, entering a tiny room set up with a desk on one side and another small table just inside the door. Cora moves passed Lady Grantham to take a seat at the desk, but Lady Grantham's hand takes her wrist, she looks up to find her gently shaking her head. The menus get laid on the little table inside the door and Mrs Yardley comes to peer at them to Lady Grantham's right, remaining near the door. Cora takes up a position to Lady Grantham's left, looking at the menus from the side. They start with the wedding menus.

"We don't need all these different canapes for Lady Rosamund's wedding. There are at least two too many. I was thinking of removing one of the fish ones, possibly one of the ones with the crab, I don't think we need crab and lobster. And this truffled egg on toast, I don't think that's really suitable, toast seems a little bland for a wedding." Cora is anticipating that Mrs Yardley will just agree, since she was being given orders by the lady of the house, but she doesn't, much to her surprise.

"Lady Rosamund was quite insistent about the truffled egg on toast and although similar, crab and lobster are not the same. I think it would be best to keep both. Besides, we had both at Lord Downton's wedding."

"This is not Lord Downton's wedding. The truffled eggs can stay I suppose, but I would like to remove the crab."

"Very well Lady Grantham." They move those pages aside, and Cora takes the opportunity to scan her eyes over the different canapes now they are closer to her and easier to read. She is just beginning to recall some of the complicated descriptions as things she had eaten at her own wedding when her mother-in-law turns to her.

"I try to have a rotating menu over about three weeks, with no two dishes being the same in that time. I would like it to be four weeks, but currently that is not possible." Cora senses from her tone that this might be a long-standing disagreement with Mrs Yardley. "I only really alter menus when I know we have a particular guest coming who might prefer a certain dish, or if we have a large dinner party, in which case considerations have to be made about which dishes are easiest to serve to a larger group." Cora nods, so far, she followed. This wasn't dissimilar to what her mother had always done at home.

"How much notice does the kitchen require to alter menus?" She directs her question towards Mrs Yardley, who smiles back at her gently and opens her mouth as if to speak, but Lady Grantham is already giving an answer.

"Unless it is a new receipt changes can usually be made right up until about two days before isn't that right Mrs Yardley?"

"Well, usually yes. It depends if all the ingredients are available for the new receipt. If it is things we store, or use regularly, it's not usually a problem. But, because of the way the ordering is done sometimes it isn't." The conversation returns to the menus at hand, and Cora listens as a discussion begins about the choice of fish course for Friday. Once again, she is surprised by how forthright Mrs Yardley is. The two older women seem to come to some agreement that Cora doesn't quite follow, her eyes still trailing over the list of canapes for Lady Rosamund's wedding, wondering at some of the ridiculously long descriptions.

The conversation ends, and she is following Lady Grantham back up the stairs, carefully lifting her dress so that she doesn't trip on the stairs. Charles, the footman, comes to a gentle stop at the top of the first flight of stairs – he had been descending from above as they had ascended. He holds the door on the little landing open for them.

She had thought there wasn't much else that would unnerve her about living at Downton. But the more things she did with Lady Grantham, the more she learnt about what was entailed with being the Countess of Grantham, the more she found that she needed to learn.

"Is it normal for cooks to be so forthright in their opinions?"

"In my experience, yes. They know the food the best, so it's best not to argue too much. They also know the work involved to make each dish and whether there are combinations of dishes that for logistical purposes are just not possible, so you have to accommodate their opinions." That made perfect sense when it was explained to her like that. Of course, you couldn't just pick things in some sort of random lottery. "Mrs Yardley has been at Downton since Robert and Rosamund were little, we know each other well now, and she is very experienced. I generally only make small changes occasionally, usually when we have a large house party." Cora nods as they return to the drawing room and settle back into their seats.

"How often do you go down to the kitchens to discuss the menus?"

"Every week. I try to always make it a Tuesday as that works best if there has been a house party from the Friday to the Monday or if there is going to be one the coming Friday. Just to ensure there is enough time to double check any arrangements." The conversation turns to the gifts that will start arriving for Rosamund's wedding in the next few weeks and the protocols for displaying them and sending letters of thanks – something Cora discovers she will be expected to participate in. "I wanted to ask how you have been feeling?" The change in the conversation brings Cora up short. She furrows her brow – was Lady Grantham eluding to her homesickness? That would seem unlikely, she hadn't mentioned it before. The last time she had mentioned any of Cora's family had been in the week after they had departed Downton.

"I'm fine. Thank you."

"No sickness or anything?" Cora tilts her head to the side, trying to assess Lady Grantham's gaze to decipher her meaning.

"No. I'm fine."

"And everything with Robert is alright? I know I'm not your mother, but if you have any questions you can ask." Realisation dawns on her then, Lady Grantham was trying to find out if she might be pregnant. Colour rushes to her cheeks, in both embarrassment and shame. She was not pregnant and speaking about Robert with his mother seemed almost as awkward as the conversation she'd had with Harold before her wedding.

"I'm not pregnant."

"My dear, I was merely asking If you had any questions. I wouldn't expect you to be pregnant yet. You've only been married three months. In another couple of months, maybe." Cora was not oblivious to the underpinned threat in that remark, the words were obvious enough, even without Lady Grantham's steely gaze.

"I don't have any questions, thank you." She does have questions, but they are not for Lady Grantham, she doubted they were even for Robert. That coiling in her abdomen when she was with Robert; the feeling of being almost consumed by it, but not quite – dancing on the edge. She wanted to know about that, but she didn't think it was something either of them could help with. She needed to figure it out for herself.

I'd rather you just visited me when you wanted to.

Her words from the other night had been a constant distraction ever since. The flower show was proving to be no different.

If only she knew.

She made it sound so simple, so straightforward. She simply wanted him to visit her when he wanted to. Very easy for her to say when she was not privy to his innermost thoughts. He could not possibly do as she asked. It would be a disaster. She would be completely appalled by the strength of his baser desires.

He eyelashes flutter. The soft swell of her breasts pushing at his chest. She sighs, the delightful sigh that he only hears her utter as he pushes inside her.

He shakes the memory away.

He would not, as had vowed to himself many times already, take advantage of her good heart.

He doesn't let himself dwell on the thoughts that try to tell him she was offering him something he must be a fool to turn down. He would sooner be a fool than a man who abused a woman's trust, heart and body for his own gains.

"Robert, are you alright?" His sister's voice interrupts his thoughts. He hesitates before answering, his brain still catching up with the words she had spoken.

"I'm fine. Perfectly fine."

"It is dreadfully dull isn't it? All these flowers to look at when we all know Granny is going to win. Poor Cora, she can't possibly be enjoying herself. Mind you, Mama is finding her a far more obedient follower than she ever found in me." Robert turns his gaze in the direction his sister is looking. Cora is across the room, diligently following his parents around the stalls. She is wearing a beautiful ivory and pink gown, a matching hat on her head. It was a new outfit, as far as he was aware, and it suited her very well. The paler colours made her hair all the more chocolatey, particularly where the curls dance at the top of her neck. He watches as she asks one of the stall holders about some of their flowers, the older man's eyes sparkle as he replies. He can tell from the tilt of her head that she is smiling and encouraging him to elaborate.

His mind returns to their wedding day and her brief little jaunt around the villagers assembled outside. They had been in awe of her then, and it wasn't simply her beauty and American accent. She was captivating and engaging with her smiles and her words. She had a knack of integrating herself into these people that he knew he lacked. She seemed to see right to the crux of the person, to be able to find exactly the right question to ask to make them smile and put them at ease. He thinks of dinners at Downton, the role of the hostess in directing the conversation and organising seating plans. He smiles, she would be good at that. She would know just who to sit next to whom to minimise argument and to facilitate good conversation.

"Robert, seriously, are you listening to me at all?"

"Sorry, I…I don't know about it being dull. I'm quite enjoying it." Rosamund laughs.

"You're not enjoying the flowers. You're enjoying gazing at your wife. Not the same thing at all." Robert blushes, and pulls his attention back to his sister, embarrassed at being caught out.

"I...I was checking she was alright. You know what mother can be like."

"Rubbish Robert, if you wanted to check she was alright you would have gone and asked her. But you can tell, simply by gazing at every step she takes around the room that she is fine, despite Mama's best attempts to derail her. So, you've stayed right here, simply gazing. Doesn't Mr Darcy do that for half of Pride and Prejudice, just gazing?" Robert feels his collar becoming a little tight. The reference to the book that he and Cora had spent so many happy conversations discussing slightly unnerving. Rosamund had no reason to know its significance, and yet she had likened him to the story's hero. There was also the other underlying idea that his sister was suggesting, that one was much more unnerving.

"Mr Darcy was in love with Elizabeth. Cora is my wife, it's quite different."

"Really? From where I'm standing it doesn't seem very different. Darcy first falls for Elizabeth by watching her interactions with others and noticing her good qualities. As far as I can tell you are doing the same."

"I am not falling in love with Cora."

"No, brother dear, of course not." Her tone is sarcastic and Robert feels the anger stirring in the pit of his stomach. Why was his sister so infuriating? Why did she always have to stir up his anger?

"Honestly Rosamund, you can drop the sarcasm. I am not falling in love with my wife."

"Of course not, that would be far to sensible." He huffs, he was not in the mood for her clever and cryptic discussions either. It was no wonder she and Mama had never got along, they were far too similar. Each had to have the final word and whilst at it they always had to be exceedingly clever. They could never simply have a conversation, they always had to make a point, ideally a clever and witty one. He doesn't answer her, it would not be wise to enter further into a conversation that was already making him angry. Thankfully, Marmaduke comes and saves him from his predicament, moving Rosamund in the direction of their grandmother's rose display. He flicks his eyes back around the room in search of Cora.

What if Rosamund is right?

The thought is there before he has a chance to squash it. He huffs, continuing his search for Cora, but his thoughts distract him, churning over the imagery of Mr Darcy gazing around ballrooms at Elizabeth Bennet. He would have to have a stern word with Rosamund about her ridiculous teasing. He was never going to be able to enjoy that book again now.

He was not falling in love with her. That was just not possible. Love was meant to be earth shattering. It was meant to be a change of perspective on life. The world was meant to shift. His world had not shifted, and the earth had not shattered around his heart.

He had married Cora. He had saved Downton by marrying her. She had a title, as her parents had wanted for her. They talked and they laughed. They were friends. She had given her heart willingly, easily and almost immediately. His heart though was still very much his own. That was not to say that he wouldn't admit to her having touched his heart – as a friend, a very good friend. He would be very cold hearted indeed if she'd had no effect on him at all. She was a beautiful and intelligent young woman who he'd shared laughs, smiles and good conversation with, of course she had touched his heart. But she did not have his heart.

"Your mother has finally released me." She is at his elbow, her bright blue eyes smiling up at him with a hint of mirth in them, or maybe it was the end of an eye roll – he had seen her do those occasionally. "I am sure I disappoint her more with each day that goes by."

"Don't take it personally. Rosamund and I still disappoint her and we've both been trying to please her for over two decades. I'd say you're doing very well." They share a smile as he murmurs a soft chuckle.

"I think that's a little harsh. She merely wants the best for her children. I think that's a universal law for all mothers." There is an unspoken tension between them now, Robert feels it rippling between them. When Cora had openly mentioned their duty to have children the other night, it had been the first time the topic had been discussed. They both knew that was their duty, he had known that Cora would have been well aware of this when she had married him. But they had not mentioned it, not even when they had been in Italy. Robert just couldn't comprehend the idea of parenthood. It seemed a role destined for people older and more self-aware, whose marriage was well established, none of which he felt. Her mention of motherhood now took him once more back to that conversation the other night, which in every way was a bad idea. It stirred too many of the feelings that he was trying to forget.

"I still hope she hasn't frustrated you too much today?"

"Not at all. I can manage her Robert, I promise. I am the same young lady you met wandering the streets of Paris on her own before sunrise, or have you forgotten?" He can hear the teasing tone and he finds himself inadvertently smiling – both at the memory of her in that beautiful blue gown and at her determination.

"I haven't forgotten Cora. I think few would forget meeting such a beautiful, intelligent woman walking the streets of Paris unchaperoned. Who, if I recall correctly, was also incredibly perceptive." He is pleased by the blush that covers her face. It was nice to know that he could please her on some level. He takes her elbow and steers her gently towards the back of the hall before lowering his voice, his mother announcing the prizes drifting into background noise. "You had managed to deduce my relationship with the opera singer, and noted my hesitation when first introducing myself as Mr Crawley and were brave enough to challenge me on both counts." She laughs, thankfully unphased by his mention of Clarisse. They had discussed that meeting before, she had always known about Clarisse in that background way that was inevitable based on her intelligence and his appearance that morning.

"Hardly difficult deductions Robert. You were exiting the back door of the theatre and the look on your face as you stumbled over your name simply screamed a lie. Although technically it wasn't a lie, just a slight falsehood, covering up your title." She pauses and he thinks from the look in her eyes that she is back there too, on the wet streets of Paris, thinking about how far they had come since then. "I should never have even spoken to you. I never spoke to anyone when I went out like that alone."

"Why did you?" He had seen Cora blush a lot in the fifteen months he has known her. Never, however, has he seen her blush as deeply and immediately as she does now. Every inch of her face and neck, even around to the tips of her ears seems to tinge a cerise pink. She drops her eyes from his, she is embarrassed. He follows her gaze down to her hands where they twist insistently at her wedding band, another trait he recognises as a nervous habit. It unnerved him more than anything else, the ring twisting she did. He didn't like to think her mind was in turmoil and she wasn't saying why. He would much rather she just admitted her thoughts, as bold as they sometimes were, he was beginning to see it was a much easier way of living. There was so much less stress if things were out in the open. If he could achieve nothing else in their marriage, and help her in no other way, the one thing he did want to achieve was an end to the ring twisting. He reaches out his hand and stills the fidgeting fingers of her right hand. She looks back up to him, her blue eyes peering out from beneath her eyelashes and the brim of her hat.

"Not here Robert. Later." He swallows, surprised by his own disappointment. Later seemed too far away, he wanted to know now. He wanted to understand the blush on her cheeks, the embarrassment in her eyes and the nerves her thoughts were instilling her. He felt instinctively that he needed to know. The blush had looked life altering, it looked as if she was completely immersed by it and the thoughts that had provoked it. He takes her hand, something he had never done before, except briefly on their wedding day at the altar, and gently tugs her in the direction of the door. They step out of the hall, and the open air is refreshing. There is nobody about, just as he had hoped, everyone had drifted inside for the prizes.

"Well, why did you speak to me that morning?"

"Robert, I'm not sure here is the right place." She is twisting her rings again. He reaches forwards and takes each of her hands in one of his, easing them apart.

"It is if it will stop you doing your nervous ring twisting." She blushes again, and looks up to meet his gaze. He keeps hold of her hands, she pushes at the skin on his thumb, still nervous.

"I spoke to you that morning because, I'd been watching you the night before at the theatre. I think I spent more time watching you than I did the opera." She blushes that shade of pink he is now convinced is the most beautiful colour in the world, but her gaze stays fixed on the ground. Robert swallows, there was the crux of the matter then. She hadn't fallen in love with him in London, it had been Paris.

Paris.

She probably hadn't loved him that morning, that was not possible. But it was clear from her wording what she was trying to say. For her the path that had led them here had started that night in a small theatre in Paris. She has seen him across a crowded theatre and admired him, watched him, studied him. She had been drawn to him, just as Mr Darcy had been drawn to Elizabeth. His thoughts churn. Rosamund's words spinning in his head from earlier. Those words seemed more significant now. Mr Darcy was fictional, but Cora was real, and her love was real, he knew that. If she had first admired him from a distance, gazed at him like that, did that mean his sister was right? Was he in the first stages of falling in love with Cora?

"I know you don't like me talking about how I love you but – " He shakes his head, hearing and seeing the tears that are coming.

"I never said that. I would never say that." And he wouldn't. It might be very uncomfortable for him, heart-wrenching to know that he held the heart of such a wonderful woman, but he would not laugh about it, or stop her from saying those things. Not if that was what she needed.

"But –" He does the only thing he can think of to make her stop uttering whatever absurdities she was going to murmur next. He kisses her.

Kissing Cora was thrilling in a way that he had never expected. He had assumed she would be gentle and chaste in her intimacy with him, but that had never been the case. She always met him with an intensity that he had not experienced before. She was almost desperate in the way she kisses him, maybe that was because she was in love? Whatever it was, it was intoxicating. Just the gentle parting of her lips was enough to make him want more, to taste her and to feel her hot breath reverberate in his mouth when she struggled to breathe.

The kiss today is a little more chaste, they were stood in plain sight. But he does allow himself the joy of dipping his tongue gently into her mouth and feeling her own gently push back. He doubted he would ever grow tired of kissing her. The physical closeness that came with kissing Cora was like nothing else he had known. Neither would he get tired of the way her eyes look when he pulls away. Wide, slightly startled but radiating with a tinge of desire and heaped with what he had recognised for some time as her look of love.

"Please Cora, never apologise for being in love with me." She nods and then they walk back into the hall together, her hand curled around his elbow.

It should scare him, that she had loved him since Paris. But he was beginning to think that Cora being in love with him was no longer something to be scared of; it was worth embracing in so many ways. Her love would not fade and with it he had a sure companion, someone who would always have his back. Not many people could boast that.

He still felt guilty, but that was more about his own lack of emotional connection rather than her obvious one. He simply did not want to break her heart.

She breaks her hold on his arm to applaud his grandmother as she steps up to the podium to accept her cup. He glances at her, the tinge of a blush still on her cheeks.

Elizabeth had taken time to fall in love with Mr Darcy. She had needed the time to understand him. Maybe, that was all that he was lacking, time. Maybe, with time it would be possible to fall in love with her. Not the earth shattering, life altering love that he had always imagined perhaps, but something altogether more realistic and equally as deep.