October 12, 1888

Robert,

I hope this letter reaches you before your birthday. I had thought at the time that I should have it be a surprise, but in these last months I've been so nervous about it. I'm being cryptic, I know, but I don't actually want to spoil the whole surprise.

You see, on my last day in London, I spent the day with Lady Rosamund. And I had to ask her help to arrange something for your birthday. I knew we would be apart, of course, but I wanted to do something special for you. It is your first birthday since we've known each other, and it is the first gift from me that you will receive. Your sister did help me decide what to do for your birthday. It seemed like a good idea in the moment, but as it gets closer for the time that you will see what I've done, I am getting a bit worried. I do like your sister, but she's a very different sort of woman, and I wonder if she might have steered me wrong. Well, not wrong, but perhaps further afield than she should. I've seen how she teases you and how she bickers with Lady Grantham, and I hope that me taking her advice wasn't the wrong thing to do.

I say all this just to warn you that if you do hate the gift, I hope you'll not think too badly of me, knowing I was under your sister's influence. In a way, I suppose it's good that I'm an entire ocean away when you receive the gift. Please promise me that you'll only open it when you're alone. I wouldn't like there to be anyone else to see it. It is a gift for you and only you, and I do hope you like it. If you do, you can enjoy it in private. And if you don't, you won't have an audience for your disappointment. If you do hate it, please write to tell me. I don't want to make any other mistakes like that again.

My next letter will be much more interesting, I promise. I wish you the happiest of birthdays, Robert, and I look forward to celebrating your next birthday with you in person.

Love,

Cora

October 27, 1888

Robert read Cora's letter with astonishment. What on earth could she possibly mean by all of that!? Obviously she was nervous about whatever she'd gotten for him for his birthday. He was now just as nervous to receive it.

If Rosamund was involved, that was surely a sure sign it would be something horribly inappropriate. His elder sister never missed a chance to humiliate him. Although, Robert had to admit that Rosamund had been surprisingly helpful ever since he had met Cora. Past experience still told him to be wary of his sister. There was every chance that she had indeed helped Cora find a birthday gift for him that he would enjoy. There was equal chance that she had bullied poor Cora into selecting something that Robert would find mortifying. It was certainly for the best that Cora specifically requested he open her gift in private. He would gladly follow that advice.

His mind began to race at the possibilities of what Cora had gotten him for his birthday. She was right, it was the very first gift she would give him in their life together. That made it somewhat important. It set a precedent. But their life together would most likely be quite long. And in the grand scheme of it, there was plenty of time for her to figure out what to give him that he would actually like, should this gift be a shining failure. After all, Papa likely did not remember the first gift that he had received from Mama. Things like that were nice, of course, but they didn't matter. Robert could suffer through ill-advised gifts.

Marriage was about a partnership, or so he understood. His marriage to Cora was first and foremost about securing her fortune for the estate. But after she signed the deed of gift that Papa and the solicitors were busily preparing, Robert would have to figure out how to live with this woman who was to be his wife. Robert had maintained from the beginning that Cora was a nice enough person. Sweet, actually. There were plenty of things about her that he found somewhat distasteful, but that was not enough to dislike her. They were things that could be changed, he was sure. Mama would teach her how to behave properly, and Cora—unlike Rosamund—was not obstinate against change. Cora would learn, he was sure. And they would…they would figure it out. They would have to.

November 4, 1888

My dearest Robert,

I wish you the happiest of birthdays. I write this in London on my final day here. I am leaving this gift and this letter with Lady Rosamund to give you on your birthday. I hope that both gift and letter will be a welcome reminder of me and my love for you. I wish that I could be with you to celebrate, but I try to remind myself that I will be back in England soon. Sooner when you receive this than when I am writing it, and that is a comfort to me. We shall have plenty to celebrate when we are reunited, both your belated birthday and our impending nuptials.

Forever yours,

Cora

P.S. I could hardly look at the portrait when it was finished, but please know that I thought of you and your touch and your kisses as I sat for it. I do not quite recognize the image of me in that portrait, but it is an image of a woman thinking only of you.

Robert sat in his bedroom, alone, after Rosamund handed him the large envelope that Cora had prepared for his birthday before she left London. He read the letter twice, his heart in his throat. Apparently she had gotten a portrait of herself for him. That was quite unexpected. And Robert could not help but think that it was a fine idea, all things considered. Cora was a beautiful woman, and it would be nice to have an image of her to look at, rather than just his memories of her.

His hand shook slightly as he picked up the stiff black folder that had been put aside so he could read the letter. He opened it to see a photograph of Cora, as he had expected to find. What was wholly unexpected was the image of Cora herself.

The photograph was just a bust of her. Her hair was partially taken down from its pins and hanging elegantly over one shoulder. Her shoulders were bare. It looked as though she had some kind of wrap covering her arms and chest, though one of her hands—holding a pale rose—obscured the view of the full expanse of her upper chest otherwise exposed. Her face looked out at him not with her dazzling smile but with a sensual intensity that he could hardly recall ever having seen before. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in all his life.

Robert traced his fingertips over the photograph, wishing it was her skin that he could feel. His whole body tingled. He was lightheaded. He could not tear his eyes off of her. He could not even fathom how he could ever stop looking at her.

In the back of his mind, Robert had the vague thought that Cora's apprehension about this gift was warranted; it was certainly inappropriate and improper. But for the first time in knowing Cora, Robert found that her inappropriate and improper behavior did not bother him in the least. Quite the opposite, in fact. He would have to find a way to tell her that he enjoyed his birthday present. He enjoyed it very much.

With hardly a conscious thought, Robert went to the small writing desk in his bedroom and took out a few pages and a fountain pen.

Cora,

I could have never conceived of such beauty in all my life. This portrait is more precious to me than you could imagine. My memory of you pales in comparison to this image. And seeing you like this something out of my dreams. And I have dreamt of you, Cora. Your touch and your kiss. You say you thought of those things of me when you sat for the photograph. I long to make those thoughts a reality. Even now, I am aflame at the very thought of you. The soft, pale, creaminess of your skin. I wish that I could touch you now, to feel you beneath my hands, to trace ever line of your body. And your lips, warm and soft and inviting. I long to kiss you with every fiber of my being. Seeing your shoulders bared to me in the portrait makes me wish I could hasten time itself until your return and, most importantly, to our wedding night. I don't know how I will possibly be able to resist the sweet, glorious delights of you, now that I have seen this delicate view of you. I want you with all my soul. I do not know how I shall survive these next ten weeks until I see you again. Touch you again. Kiss you again. And when that moment comes, however can I stop myself from taking all of you as I so desperately desire? It is a desperate desire, what I feel for you now, what your portrait has inspired in me. Even now, I—

Robert's hand finally stopped, ink from his pen bleeding where he left the point too long on the page. He read back what he had written, horrified. Those words, while all true, were utter madness. Madness that he could not afford to express to himself, much less in writing to Cora.

He put the pen down and took the page and ripped it into pieces, ashamed of what he had nearly done. The portrait of Cora gazed at him so sensuously, nearly tipping him back to madness once more. He closed the cover of the folder and put the portrait into a drawer of the desk. It wouldn't do to have that lying about.

It took another moment or two for Robert to take a few deep breaths to clear his head and regain full control over himself. When he had done so, he got a fresh page out in front of him and started again with his letter.