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Chapter 32 – August/September 1889

It had taken much longer than he would have liked to go after Cora. After leaving Evelyn to dry her tears he had sort out his father amongst the gathered guests at the bazaar which had taken him longer than he would have liked, to explain Cora's telegram and their need to depart. His father had nodded solemnly, patted him on the back, and told him to come and say goodbye before they set off.

He'd then had the difficult job of detaching both Henderson and Charles – the first footman – from the crowds of people. Henderson it transpired had returned to the house for some more refreshments for various stall holders and Charles was busy with his duties. It wasn't ideal to be taking a footman with him as valet, but as was the situation at the moment. Templeton's mother had been taken ill last week and he was currently visiting her, Charles had been temporarily helping out (again) in his absence. It seemed the young man aspiring to butler was about to get a taste of America.

Charles had dashed off, full of authority and understanding, agreeing to meet him in his dressing room with the cases. Robert had told him to make a start on the packing and to please send Henderson to Lady Downton if he saw her in the servant's quarters. His tasks finally completed, he had finally made it across the grounds in a gentle jog, before taking the stairs two at a time.

He had pushed his way into Cora's bedroom after two simple knocks, not awaiting a response. Now, here he was, stood before her.

She hadn't looked up as he had entered the room. Her drawers were already open, and she had clearly been busy laying things on the bed ready for the cases. Her collection of bathroom items are already balanced on a flannel near her pillow. She is crying. Not fast furious tears, just a constant stream that she reaches up to wipe away between every other movement. As she blinks he watches a tear fall onto the garments she is moving about. He strides around the bed and takes her hand from where it was smoothing a blouse. She pulls it away, barely letting his skin touch hers.

"Don't touch me." He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. She wasn't just crying about her father. She was crying because of what had happened in the garden with Evelyn. Today was easily turning into one of the worst days in his life.

"Cora, please, you're crying." She sniffs, pushing her sleeve across her face again to remove the tears. He dreaded to think what his mother would say if he saw her do that. She continues to move things from the drawers to the bed, neatly folding the items in a way that he assumes reduces creasing. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't even look at him. "At least look at me." She snaps her eyes up to his, freezing at the drawers. He regrets having asked her to look at him. Her cheeks are wet and red, her eyes are puffy and glassy. Worse than that though, is the sharpness behind the blue, the narrowing way they look at him. If looks could kill he thought this one might.

"Happy now?" Her tone is sarcastic, brittle and cold. He takes a step towards her, reaching out his hands to take her own.

"Cora – " She steps back, shaking her head.

"You don't have to come. I am happy to travel to America on my own. I know you would much rather stay here." He closes his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and let her cry her eyes out on his shoulder, but she wasn't going to allow that, not even close. She was hurting in more ways than one.

"I promised I would come, and I don't break promises." He tries to express the sincerity of his words by the look he gives her, but he is not sure she registers it. He had promised her he would go with her to America, and even though, right now, it might be much easier to leave her to go alone, it was not the right thing to do and it was not what he had promised. Neither had he broken any other promise he had made to her, or himself. He had not treated her badly. Now was not the right moment to defend himself against her silent allegation about Evelyn though. She was too distraught. When the moment was right he would explain that what she had witnessed had been entirely initiated by Evelyn, which was the truth.

"Not promises, no, just hearts." He thinks he would prefer it if she was yelling, or visibly in some way really angry. Her calm is unnerving. There are the emotions of the tears and the edge to her voice, but no anger. Everything about her approach to this conversation was completely measured, and completely controlled. It was so unsettling he felt almost nauseous because of it. If only she would just get angry with him, tell him she was cross, and then he could just correct her misunderstanding and they could move on. But like this he has no idea how best to explain the situation. He wasn't even sure she wanted an explanation. Was she so upset that if he tried to explain it rationally, with the truth, would she refuse to listen? He doubted now was the right moment anyway it would take longer than a few minutes and Henderson would appear soon – with her ears pricked up to report back to his mother no doubt. Either way, Cora was not calm at the moment. A deep discussion about what had occurred in the garden was not wise when she was struggling with the grief, panic and worry associated with the news about her father.

"I'll meet you downstairs. Papa wanted to say goodbye before we go." She nods her head once, sharply, before sniffing away more tears. Her gaze fixed on a garment she is removing from the drawer. She doesn't have a chance to move away as he reaches for the creases of fabric at her elbow. She flinches as his hand makes contact, and he immediately drops it away, but not before he has rubbed his thumb once along the side of her elbow.

Her eyes dart up to his as he pulls his hand away. Her lips quiver – he isn't sure if she is trying not to cry or trying not to smile. Maybe both. Her eyelids flutter closed and she reaches up to pinch a tear away from the inside of her eye. When she opens her eyes again she seems about to open her mouth and say something when the door opens and Henderson appears. Robert steps away from her and with a promise to meet her downstairs in half an hour he retreats to his dressing room.

Charles is already there, a case open on the bed and neatly collecting together the items required. He asks him if he would like to change into another outfit for the journey, but he declines, there would be time to change once they had secured a cabin on a passage to America, the important thing now was getting there. He knew that the quickest it would take them to cross the Atlantic would be a week and that was assuming that weather was on their side. If it wasn't they could be on the water for days longer than that. Days they did not have. He walks to the window and looks up at the sky, a stupid habit the English had to check the weather – as if that would help him know what was going on in the Atlantic!

Charles seems to be happy with the packing not long after, and he quickly checks over the cases, but his thoughts aren't with it. His thoughts waver between the father-in-law on the other side of the Atlantic – he hardly knew the man and now he wasn't even going to have a chance to – and Cora with her grief, hurt and anger. Isidore's health finally failing was always going to be tough on Cora, but the timing of today could not have been any worse. Evelyn had kissed him on the cheek deliberately to anger Cora and my goodness she had timed it well – little had she known that Cora was on the edge of an emotional crisis already.

He pulls his thoughts together and leaves the dressing room behind Charles. He heads towards the servants' stairs and Robert strides across the gallery and down the staircase into the great hall. He is surprised to find his parents, Rosamund and Marmaduke are all loitering in the hallway already. They are stood in a small huddle, talking softly. He can hear the bustle of servants and horses wafting through the doorway. They all turn as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. His father steps towards him.

"The carriage is almost ready to take you to York. Peters says the next train to Liverpool leaves at three. You've missed the connection from Downton, but you might just make it to York on time." He nods. His mother steps towards him now. She pats his upper arm.

"Send a telegram when you get a passage and when you arrive with Cora's family."

"Of course, Mama."

"Look after her." His mother's voice is sincere and her eyes are penetrating as she holds his gaze. "Make sure she eats and drinks properly." She smiles softly.

"Don't speak too loudly Mama, someone might accuse you of being concerned." She rolls her eyes at him and just like that the spell is broken. The kindness he had seen in them moments before is gone, replaced by the steely gaze that was all too familiar.

"I am. She's deathly pale and so delicate as it is. If she doesn't eat properly on top of her grief there might not be anything left of her when she returns to Downton."

"Oh Mama, honestly!" It is Rosamund, admonishing her and thankfully giving Robert an excuse not to answer.

"Oh, do be quiet Rosamund! I am genuinely concerned about Cora. Grief is not something either of you have had the chance to understand properly yet, thankfully. I doubt Cora has either. It's all going to be very daunting and she might be tempted to do something silly and get all emotional which would be within her character."

"You mean because she is American?" Robert hisses the words before he has really thought about them. The anger that he had just about managed to suppress after the incident with Evelyn earlier already beginning to find its mark again. Helped along by the lace of other churning fears about what he was going to face. He doesn't give his mother a chance to reply before continuing. "You know Mama, I suggest you stop belittling Cora because of her nationality. I'm sure she finds some of the things you do and say as absurd as you find hers. Surely you can at least be kind. After all, she is going to be the mother of your grandchildren. Whom, incidentally, will be half American."

"No child of Cora's will be anything other than English."

"By birth and by the life they lead, yes, they will be English. But, biologically they will have her blood."

"Blood has very little to do with anything."

"I see. So, when you were trying to get me to marry an English girl instead of Cora that wasn't to do with your preference for pure English blood to run in the veins of your grandchildren?"

"Oh, Robert dear, you are deluded. No English blood is pure. The Royal family are less English than we probably are! But one thing we are, all of us, is older than the Americans. I was merely trying to direct you towards a wife who could be a good Viscountess and later Countess, that is all." His mother always had to have an answer, he should have known that despite his best efforts he was not going to win.

His attention is drawn to movement on the stairs. As if in unison all five of them turn to Cora as she descends the staircase. She had changed into another outfit for travelling. Her pale green day dress had been replaced with a cream blouse and a dark plum skirt. She was wearing a black coat over the top, her black hat already adorning her head. Her hand, where it slides along the bannister looks painfully white poking out from the end of her sleeves. He would take comfort in the fact she had not yet donned a completely black outfit, but he suspected that had been at Henderson's insistence – since her father had not died yet, it was not suitable.

He steps forward as she reaches the base of the staircase, prepared to take her hand, but as he advances she looks up and shakes her head.

"I can manage a few stairs Robert, thank you." Her tone is clipped and her eyes look even more hollow now they are surrounded by the dark brim of her black hat. Marmaduke and Rosamund step forward, each trying to give her a reassuring smile. He watches as she smiles meekly back. Rosamund squeezes her hand and kisses her cheek, Marmaduke pats her shoulder. Robert finds himself stepping away from them. Hurt by the ease in which she accepts their reassurance and touch but would not accept his own. He had a good mind to stroll back out to the bazaar and give Evelyn another piece of his mind. There was no doubting any more that she was upset about far more than just her father.

He doesn't hear what his mother says to her. But he watches as she reaches forward and wipes a tear from Cora's face before patting her hands reassuringly and kissing her cheek. It felt so odd to him, to watch his mother behave almost endearingly when she had just been so sharp about her moments before. She truly was a contrary woman. It was time he gave up trying to understand her and focus his attention on understanding his wife. If it was going to take as long as it had taken to understand his mother he ought to get going. He couldn't afford to never understand Cora and he could feel that the next few weeks were crucial. Cora was about to transverse the state of grief and he believed that this was likely to be a make or break point in their marriage. Not just because he had some explaining to do about Evelyn, but because grief (from what he understood) could bring out the worst in people. It was also a time in which they needed support. This was his moment to support Cora, and to learn to understand her more deeply than he had before now.

His father interrupts the farewells with his own, and a reminder that time was ticking by and they ought to get going. He looks to Cora, but she ignores him, striding purposely forward towards the door ahead of him. This was going to be one terribly long and awkward week if she refused to so much as look at him. Their feet crunch across the gravel and Cora has her foot on the step up into the carriage when his grandmother appears suddenly from the direction of the bazaar.

"I won't ask how it is that I was not informed of the imminent departure of my grandson and his wife." She throws a look in the direction of his mother, that proves she knows exactly why, before turning to the two of them. She closes the gap and reaches for Cora first. "My dear, I am sorry the moment has come. But don't do so much crying. I know it's hard, but your father will want to see your pretty smile." Cora tries to smile; his grandmother simply squeezes her hand tightly.

"I'll try." She kisses Cora's cheek and she climbs into the carriage. His grandmother now turns to him.

"And you, Robert dear, give her everything she wants, everything she asks for. Read to her, make sure she eats, buy her a new dress, all of that and more. Oh, and for goodness sake hold her and kiss her. None of this stuffy English nonsense." He doesn't blush, he doesn't have a chance to, his mind is reeling too much at exactly what he might be about to face. His grandmother knew a thing or two about grief, clearly, she was trying to impart her wisdom onto him. He wasn't sure she had gone for the right tactic, he just felt panicked now. Was he going to be able to give Cora everything she wanted? He hadn't been any good at that up to this point, how as he going to manage when she was grieving and needed more cherishing than ever? His grandmother kisses his cheek before tapping his elbow, shooing him into the carriage.

He settles into the seat beside Cora, and takes off his hat. The carriage jolts to a start. The cheering children and excitement out the window as the bazaar continues are a stark contrast to the silence in the carriage. He looks towards her as the carriage draws them out through the iron gates. She is staring out the window, her gloved hands in her lap. Even with her gloves on she is twisting her rings around her finger. There was not surprise in that, he knew she did it when her emotions were heightened and they were bound to be today. He reaches forward with one hand, intending to still her own. He does manage to touch her hand, but not for long before she pulls them away from his grasp. She doesn't even glance at him under the brim of her hat, her gaze stays firmly fixed out the window.

They were about to travel across an ocean together to the other side of the world. He feared the greater concern was the ocean that was opening up between them. They could sail the Atlantic aboard a ship; he had no idea how to sail the rough seas of marriage.

The numbness had not been aided by the sea breeze. It had simply made her shiver. If anything, the chill had magnified the numbness. She was now physically cold and mentally numb.

She pulls her coat more tightly around her. Despite the cold, being stood on the breezy deck was better than being inside. Robert was inside and she did not want to see him.

She stares down at the waves over the railing. The sea is largely calm, as calm as the ocean could be. The light dances on the crests of the waves and she watches as the water dips in and out of being in the shadows as the water seemingly curls over itself. Being at sea made her feel insignificant and small. Whilst that scared many people, it brought her comfort. It was comforting to be reminded that the world continued, nature did not stop being there even when one's individual world was falling apart. She needed that insignificant feeling now more than ever. Maybe the feeling of being just a small cog in such a massive world would help her to find her way out of this mess.

The water is dark, only the surface rippling with light from the sun, immediately below the very surface it is inky. Much like she feels, shrouded and closed up. Everyone only seemed to understand the surface of her, she felt like she only understood her surface at the moment, everything in her heart was so turbulent – much like what was hidden in the deep ocean.

She curls her gloved hands over the railing and peers more deliberately over the edge, watching the places where the water foams to white as the ship carves its way through the waves. It was mesmerising.

As mesmerising as it might be, it does not distract her thoughts forever. If anything, gazing absentmindedly at the waves gives her ample time for thinking. Something she had perfected in her four days onboard. Her days consisted of thinking and waiting. The thinking consisted mainly of turning over the kiss she had witnessed and her father's imminent demise, trying to find a way to cope with both of them whilst coping with neither of them. The waiting was in relation to Robert, she was waiting for him to explain himself – to explain that kiss. When she wasn't thinking or waiting she was simply staring out at the sea mainly, or reading (when she let her mind be distracted) and then attended to the ridiculous tirade that was dining onboard. She had been pleased when Robert had managed to tone down the waiter on their first evening onboard – he had been far too eager to perfect his job and, in the process, had overlooked both her attire and her teary expression. It was about the only thing Robert had done to be useful since they had boarded the ship. The rest of the time he just seemed to look at her, and endlessly ask how she was feeling. It was infuriating.

What on earth was he expecting her to be feeling?

Her father was about to die and he had been caught kissing another woman. It was hardly likely to be a recipe for happiness. She had ignored the question every time he had posed it.

He had at least acquiesced to her request to be left alone the majority of the time. He had accepted her desire to walk the deck in the morning alone and to have time alone in the sitting area in their suite in the late afternoon for an attempt at the sleep that eluded her at night. He could be as accommodating as he liked but she was still cross with him. Cross and disappointed. She had thought she could trust him. She had thought that although she might need to be worried about Evelyn's intentions, she did not need to worry about Robert. She had thought him a good man, a kind man, who despite not being in love with her, would not treat her really badly.

She had been wrong.

The image appears unbidden before her eyes. Evelyn with her hand caressing his cheek as she had approached; her head tilted away from her. There could be no doubt about it. They had been kissing.

She didn't think Robert was in love with Evelyn, his grandmother had thought he was not, and she knew how vehemently he had criticised her behaviour towards him during their season. But Evelyn was someone Robert had known his entire life and it was certainly possible to kiss people you didn't love. He kissed her all the time after all. But that was different, that was in the privacy of her bedroom, as husband and wife. Those were not passionate kisses in plain sight of anyone that might have been looking.

She stretches her left hand out on the railing, keeping her palm on the metal, her fingers now set with the backdrop of the ocean below. How easy it would be to take the gold bands off her finger and let them fall into the ocean. Lost to the waves, just like her marriage was lost to her.

She had been naïve to think that she could make him love her. She had been even more naïve to listen to his promises before their wedding. He hadn't been lying, she knew him well enough to know that, but she should have been less naïve about thinking his promises would allow the deep friendship they were aiming for to be exclusively hers. She had overlooked the idea of him having other friends, from all the life he had led before her, that would remain as intimate to him as they had before. She hadn't considered the option that there might be someone else he would confide in too, and that had been naïve.

She twists the rings over her finger, but she grips them tightly. The dreams she had for her marriage might be shattered but there was no point in throwing her precious jewellery into the ocean; she could not dissolve the marriage with their loss and she didn't want to. She loved him, and if all she had of him would be the two rings he had given her, she would keep them always.

The breeze whips across the deck again, there had been utterances of a potentially stormy night at sea this evening, and the chill in the air was increasing. She pulls her coat tighter around her and turns to go back inside. She was a little earlier than she had been the last few days, but she might as well try and settle to her afternoon rest, maybe some sleep would finally come to her.

She walks back to their suite without noticing anyone or consciously thinking about where she is going. It was a path she had trodden at least three times a day for the last four days, she didn't need to think about it anymore.

She opens the suite door and immediately looks down. She hadn't thought he would be in the room at this time. By the way he jumps from his seat – in one of the armchairs with his book – he hadn't expected her to arrive. They stand awkwardly, almost the entire width of the room between them. Aside from an initial second of eye contact she keeps her gaze fixed more at his chest, from this distance he might mistake her for actually looking at his face. He adjusts the cuffs of his jacket, a sure sign he was trying to pretend to be busy, rather than admit to the fact they are just staring at each other. Finally, he picks the little menu off the table in the room and opens and closes its leather cover a couple of times.

"Would you like me to order you any room service or get you something from the dining room? I was thinking of going to find some afternoon tea."

"No, thank you." The menu lands back on the table with a soft thump. She watches him chew his lips briefly before he picks up his book again, his thumb picking at the corner of the well-worn cover. He moves in her direction, towards the door.

"Right, well, I'll see you later I suppose. Are we going to dinner at the usual time?"

"Yes." He nods briskly and moves to the door, careful to keep as much distance from her as possible as he moves past her. A surge of frustration surprises her with its intensity as it flares up around the numbness that throbbed within her. "Robert?" He turns at the door, his gaze meeting hers. "Why haven't you apologised?" His brow furrows for a second before he squeezes his eyes shut and reaches up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. He walks back into the room, shaking his bowed head from side to side. She finds herself reaching for the chair nearest her, an unsteadiness overcoming her. She grips the back to the chair, pushing her fingers into the fabric. He comes to a stop in front of the armchair he had vacated moments before. The little drinks table and the chair she stands behind sit between them.

"Cora, if this is about Evelyn – "

"Of course it's about Evelyn, or is there something else you should be apologising for?" Her voice scares her. Whilst for the last four days it had been timid and quiet, clogged with worry and grief and always on the edge of tears, it is now firm and blunt. Her tone cuts, and she sees in the way that he flinches that it has found its mark. She moves around the chair, coming to stand across from him.

"I was going to explain, but the last few days haven't seemed like the right time. I'm still not sure that they are Cora. You're hurting and – "

"Can you hear the words coming out of your mouth? Of course, I am hurting. On the same day I get summoned to America to watch my father die by husband is kissing another woman!" She had never shouted at him. She rarely shouted at all in fact.

"What?!"

"Don't try to deny it Robert. I saw you, you know I saw you. Her hand on your cheek, her face tilted into yours."

"Cora, wait, slow down. I did not kiss Evelyn."

"I saw it Robert, I'm not stupid you know, I know what –"

"She kissed me, on the cheek, that was all." He steps towards her and takes her left hand from where it dangles by her side. He doesn't give her a chance to wriggle it free, holding her hand tightly between both of his. He pulls it towards his chest, coaxing her to look up into his gaze. His look is imploring.

"But, I saw…" She stops, her mind turning over that image again. Evelyn's hand had been on his cheek. She had not been able to see their lips, she had just assumed, by the way Evelyn was holding his face that their lips had been pressed together. "Her hand was on your cheek and she was…don't lie to me Robert, please." She drops her gaze as her voice cracks, it was not worth the heartbreak. She would much rather he just told her truth otherwise she would be stuck in this fantasy of thinking maybe one day he might love her forever. She would much sooner know that was never going to happen. "Goodness, if you love her, I won't stand in the way, not if it's what you want." She doesn't look at him, her words directed somewhere towards his chest.

"Heavens above Cora! I did not kiss her, I don't even want to kiss her!" She looks back up to him. His eyes dart over her face, looking and searching for her acceptance of his outcry. When they stop dancing, his eyes hold hers. "She did it on purpose, she had spotted you heading towards us, and she knew I hadn't, so she kissed me on the cheek to upset you. She probably even put her hands like that so you would think I was kissing her." It all made an awful lot of sense, but her brain still niggles at her, the resounding terror she had of not being wanted by him as well as the rest of his family crashing over her in waves. She could cope with anything but for him not to want her at all, to not like her, or to resent her for separating him from what he really wanted.

"How do I know you're not just saying that?" He unclasps his hands from hers, before gently tilting her chin upwards. His gaze is strong and steady, his blue eyes are unwavering in the way they penetrate hers. She admires the different hues of blue; darker in the centre and at the edge, almost as dark as the last of the brightest blue sky at the top of the sky just before the sun sets. In between they are lighter, pale, and in the right light almost flecked with shades of yellow and white.

"Because I'm telling you." He wasn't lying. If his gaze was not confirmation enough, his words and the tone of his voice are. "And, because I couldn't do that to you. I won't do that to you." She smiles softly, but it doesn't spread internally, his words don't fill her with joy. Not because they aren't endearing and charming, but because he could make no such promise. Love didn't work like that, he might well find someone he loved, and she would let him go if that was the case. It does give her hope though, if he was so sure he never wanted to hurt her, maybe that would bring him nearer to her still? "Now, might I suggest we order some room service, read together and turn our thoughts away from the Evelyn debacle and focus on what is important; you and your father."

She isn't sure which part of the sentence makes the tears come. His sincerity; the proof of his understanding; his care; the mention of her father or the image of tranquil intimacy that forms in her mind of them sat together reading. Either way, her vision clouds, her eyelashes begin to feel damp and her reflexes kick in to seal her eyes shut. The next thing she feels is his hand at the base of her neck, coaxing her body into his. His lips graze her forehead before it comes to rest against his chest. His other arm encircles her waist. He murmurs his assurances that she should cry, and that he would hold her whilst she does, and it just makes the tears come faster. She isn't sure how long they are stood there, her face pressed against his chest, his hand massaging at the base of her neck and his soft murmurings accompanying each of her sobs. What she does know is that despite seven months of marriage and the physical intimacy that had come with it, she had never felt as close to him as she does now. She had never felt so comforted by anyone's hold in her entire life.

When they do separate, he helps her remove her shoes and her coat, and then settles her onto the small settee in the room with a blanket from the bed and a cushion. He fetches her book from her bedroom and rings the bell so they can order some food. Once the attendant has been and gone with their order and then returned about ten minutes later with the requested tray of sweet treats and tea, he settles onto the settee beside her. Without her shoes on she decides to curl her feet up onto the settee beneath her. He pours the tea and positions a cup so she can reach it before turning to the cakes and assessing them. He takes a plate and then takes a chocolate-based patisserie from the selection, handing it to her with a smile.

"Have I selected the right one?" She nods. "Good, now then, pass me that book, come and lean against me and then I can read to you whilst you devour your chocolate patisserie." She does as he bids, moving to settle against his chest as he positions himself in the corner of the settee, one arm extended across the back of the settee clutching her book, the other holding his choice of cake.

The closest she had found not half an hour before as she had cried in his arms was nothing compared to how intimately connected she felt to him now as he softly begins to utter the words of Louisa May Alcott's Little Women.