AN: As promised, the next chapter. Please do leave a review, I love hearing everyone's thoughts. Cobert love to you all.

Chapter 36 – Mid-October 1889

It had been three weeks since Isidore's death. The decisions, documents, gatherings of family and friends had all passed by, but the grief still remained and was thick and heavy. Harold on the whole, as far as Robert could tell, had coped the best. He seemed to keep himself busy with business and the financial implications of his father's passing. At first, it had looked as though Cora was wavering the storm much better than Martha, but as more time had passed he was beginning to doubt it.

Martha had been pensive and deep in thought for the first two weeks. Robert had often come across her just stood in rooms, gazing at things he couldn't see. Her shocking head of red hair was often bent and she had been silent at the dinner table, uttering not a single word. He had heard her crying at night when he had walked past her bedroom door. But then, after that first week, Martha Levinson appeared on the outside to return to her usual witty self, teasing him at the dinner table, laughing at his mannerisms and teasing Cora about how she could love such a strange man. She had read the condolence letter that his mother had sent, raised her eyebrows and made sneering remarks about it being such a typical letter for 'dear Violet' to write. What this meant, he had no idea. She was still quieter than usual, and she retired to bed early and her eyes in the morning were always red-rimmed and seemed to shout out a lack of sleep. But overall, she was gaining something of her normalcy back, or at least, she pretended to for the sake of everyone else.

Cora was a different story. The first week she had been quiet and subdued, exactly as he had expected. In some ways, she had been better than he had expected, alone in their room she had been happy to talk with him and she had slept. Following the first week, nothing had changed about her during the day – the quiet, harrowed look remained, as did the meek voice and tear-filled eyes. She busied herself around the house and helped her mother. To an outsider she might well have appeared fine, acting as she was to support her mother and keep everything running smoothly.

But some things had changed. At night he would often awake to her crying softly into her pillow and when he asked her about this she would say she just couldn't sleep. She would fall back to sleep eventually if her held her, but she was losing hours of sleep each night, refusing to wake him herself and only taking his comfort if he happened to wake. She had also begun to eat less, her appetite was getting decidedly smaller, yet she still spent every hour of the day occupied. Most days she walked for much of the late afternoon, along the cliff walk or the beaches. He worried that the large amount of exercise and the low dietary intake were not a good match – surely, she would burn out? The weather was also changing and he feared she would catch a chill on one of her walks.

It was with this concern hanging over him that he had followed her down to the beach today. He found her not on the beach, but sat on the crag of rock she had shown him earlier in their visit – her quiet place. Her back is hunched, her knees are pulled up to her chest and she is holding them tightly to herself. Her face rests on her knees; she looks both cold and like she might be crying.

He finds his way along the base of the cliff and begins to climb the crag. She hears him because she turns to look at him, her lips twitch up gently. He gestures to the place beside her as he reaches the top.

"Might I join you?" She nods, solemnly, before returning her chin to her knees. He takes his jacket off as he sits and drapes it over her shoulders. She pulls it tightly around herself. "You shouldn't have come out without a coat."

"No, it seems I should not." She shivers slightly and he puts his arm across her shoulders, rubbing them in the hope of warming her up. She tilts her face sideways on her knees, resting her ear against her dress and peering up at him. "I think it's time we returned to Downton."

"Are you sure? I'm happy to stay." He didn't feel as if she was ready for anything, let alone returning home. He wanted to go, of course he did, but he did not want to hurry her.

"I think I'm sure, yes. I think I need to face reality again."

"Cora, your grief is your current reality, you don't need to run away from it."

"I'm not running. I just think I need to balance it with life and activity. I will get more of that at Downton, what with your mother giving me my 'Countess lessons' and the dinners and things. Whereas here, it's just endless walking and thinking about it all. There's only so much I can do to help mother in the house. I think it's been making it worse not better, being here surrounded by my memories." He doesn't say anything, but he continues to rub her back. She sits up and stares out at the churning waves. He follows her gaze. The swell is greater today than it had been the day they had sat here before – the day her father had died – and the spray splashes repeatedly at the base of the crag of rock. Further out at sea it is clearly raining, the horizon misty in the distance.

"I would still like you to share some of your memories of your father and your childhood here, before we go. If you think you can?"

"I think I might be able to manage that."

"And you haven't had your birthday celebration." The beach picnic she had planned had been cancelled. Planned as it had been for the last week of September which had turned into the week of her father's passing. He had given her his gift in the privacy of his room one night – a set of pearl drop earrings and a matching ring. He now wished he had purchased something less generic, but now wasn't the right time to dwell on that. He would try and think of something better for Christmas.

"You're right. Maybe it might be nice to combine the two? Then Harold and Mother can share their memories of Daddy and my childhood too? We can all sit together on the beach." He smiles, pleased to see the light in her eyes but also at her use of her father's title of endearment. He had known that she used the term 'daddy' still. When he had first heard her use it, he had thought it very childish, but now it was endearing. He had got used to it, and the way her accent rolled over it, and he liked it. It gave him a glimpse into the young girl she had been. "I think that would be nice. Why don't we have it on Friday and then we can try and book a passage home for early next week."

"If you're sure."

"I am. Besides, if I stay too long I might return to habits your mother will disapprove of." She smiles softly, her lips twitching up at the corners. He doesn't find her attempt at a joke amusing, now was not the time for joking.

"Please don't let her be a factor in your decision to go back Cora. We can stay as long as you like." She shakes her head softly and then reaches across to rub at his trouser leg. Her hand caresses along his thigh and he swallows in discomfort when her fingers brush repetitively along the inside of his thigh. Grief was a powerful emotion, but so was desire. Although the extended abstinence from their marital relations had been largely upheld by him, it didn't mean he didn't want her physically, such gestures came too close to reminding him how much. He gently prizes her hand from his leg and holds it firmly.

"It isn't a factor. I need to get back Robert. We need to get back to the life we are trying to build." The way her eyes watch him imploringly and her thumb struggles against the hold of his hand to try and brush his leg, suggest that she was talking specifically about them having a child as much as she was about strengthening their marriage.

"Cora, I have said it before, and I will say it again. Now is not the time for a baby, and there is plenty of time, there is no rush. I want you to be happy again, and not on the edge of slipping into tears and despair."

"The only time I don't feel the emptiness and the hurt is when you do those things to me Robert." Her voice is a whisper and a warm blush covers her cheeks, her gaze fixed far out at sea. He had continued, at her insistence, to take her to a peak with his touches. This presented its difficulties for him of course, which trips to the bathroom after she was asleep were having to rectify – he had still refused to allow her to return the favour. It wasn't every night, he wasn't sure he would keep up with his self-restraint if it was – it was getting harder to turn down her offers.

"That doesn't mean it's the right thing to do. Not yet at least. You still aren't sleeping through the night Cora."

"I sleep better when you let take me to the edge of this world before I sleep." He swallows, his mind wandering on their own accord to exactly what she looked like in those moments. Her skin was usually covered in a faint layer of perspiration; she balled her hands at her sides or in the pillow and bit her lip. Sometimes she would turn and bite the pillow, he liked it when she did that because he knew she was losing control of herself. The best part though was when her eyes fluttered open afterwards and a waft of a sigh escaping her lips. He shakes his head and returns to the reality. He watches her fingers where they press at the folds of her dress over her knees to steady his nerves.

"I just don't feel comfortable with it, Cora, I'm sorry." He felt guilty he had given into the request he had, he wouldn't take it further.

"Goodness, you are stubborn." He can't help but laugh as her forehead furrows into a frown. "What's so funny?"

"I thought that I would be sat on the side-lines whilst you argued your opinions with my mother in such a fearless manner. I never thought I would be the one embroiled in the argument half the time and certainly not an argument in which I am sure we're arguing the wrong parts." This was a point he had made before, but it remained unchanged; he admired her fearlessness and he enjoyed her boldness.

"Oh my darling, this isn't an argument. You're not fighting very hard for a start. Besides, with this one we're both on the same side." He doesn't miss the use of the endearment, and neither does she, given the blush that spreads across her cheeks. Obviously, that had slipped out by accident. He smiles softly, he rather liked it.

"How do you work that out, when I'm refusing to give you what you want?"

"Because, secretly, you do want to give me what I want. You're just trying to be gentlemanly. Which is incredibly infuriating."

"You admitted yourself Cora, that the emptiness and the darkness are still following you around, still inhabiting you. I think you need time to work through those emotions."

"Yes, in the twenty-three other hours of the day! Surely, it can't be too much to ask to have just one hour a day when those feelings don't plague me? Distraction is the best medicine Robert, keeping the mind active and busy with something else." He sighs, he wasn't going to win, her points were compelling, and irrefutably reasonable. He wouldn't have been surprised if she admitted she had been spending time planning exactly how to corner him into this discussion.

"I don't think I'm the only stubborn one around here." She smiles a soft smile, her eyes sparkly just for a brief second and he smiles when he sees it. "I'll make a compromise – "

"Of course you will, any type of spontaneity being completely beyond the abilities of an English nobleman." Her eyebrows are raised, she is teasing him. He smiles a wry smile.

"You ought not to tease me Cora. I might change my mind."

"Well I doubt you'll surprise me."

"That sounds like a challenge."

"If you like." Their gazes remain locked. The ocean swirls below them, the spray increasing and the white horses of the waves growing in frequency. He notices none of it. All he notices are the flecks of colours in her eyes, the steely strength in them. She might be grieving, she might be forlorn compared to before, but the Cora he knew was still under there and today she was shining. "So, what's the compromise?" Her voice seems almost distant, veiled by hundreds of layers, as he wades his way back from the depth of her eyes.

"I want you to wake me in the night when you wake up, so I can help you to get back to sleep." She nods gently, as if she had been expecting that. She probably had since he had repeatedly told her he was happy to listen as she explained them. "And I want you to be waking a little less frequently before," he finds himself wafting his arm about, unsure how exactly to phrase what he wants to say out loud, "you know, we do that." She giggles softly at his floundering before her expression turns serious again.

"And if I do that, will you promise me, that we will have done that, within a fortnight of returning home?" He rolls his eyes, he really never was going to win.

"Fine."

"See, I knew, somewhere deep down you couldn't really resist me." He doesn't tell her that it isn't that deep down; that his desires around her floated all too near the surface and that he did in fact remain terrified that one day he might lose control and embarrass them both. Being away from Downton, with so many hours to fill and so few things to fill his time they had naturally spent more time together. This he knew hadn't helped. Although their mood had been largely sombre, some of the sparks from their courtship and their early meetings in Paris had shown themselves in the freedom away from Downton. In addition, he had decided to embrace her love and with that it would be time to finally embrace the advice Marmaduke had given him. He needed to ask her what she wanted to gain from their intimate relationship, even if he thought he now knew the answer to this, and he would tell her some of his preferences in return.

Beyond all that, there had been his simple admiration as he had watched her struggle with her grief, whilst also displaying a strength and determination he was not sure he would have been able to match in her position. She was young, she was petite and delicate, but goodness, he had watched her strength. The hidden tears and the unwavering cheer she had mustered in front of her father at the end; the quiet help she was being to both her mother and her brother in their grief. She hid her own grief from them to spare them, to allow Martha particularly, time to manage her own grief first. Cora was strong, and she knew the people around her and what they needed, often putting them first. He was possibly the luckiest man in the world to be the person she loved like no other person.

He feels his tears pricking with what he knows are tears. He pinches his eye quickly, before she sees and then reaches across to wrap his arm around her shoulders and draw her into his side. She glances at him in shock, but he pulls her into him anyway.

"You've been so strong Cora."

"Goodness, where is this testimonial coming from?"

"I mean it. I want you to know that. Before we get back, and Mama and Papa are flapping around us both and fussing about an heir, or some society dinner, or Christmas. You're so strong and you're managing this so well."

"It doesn't feel like it sometimes."

"You are." She seems to accept this and settles comfortably into his embrace, pulling his jacket up to sit more firmly across her shoulders. Her head lies against his shoulder.

"You know, you've been different since we've been here."

"Death has a way of changing all of us."

"Changing us and uniting us. I thought you would find my family all too much for all these weeks. Maybe you have, but you haven't shown it. You've got on quite well with them I think."

"Honestly, I thought I would too. But I haven't, I've learnt a great deal." He pauses and rubs her shoulders. "Who knows how long we both shall live Cora, who knows what will even happen tomorrow. But what I do know, is that I married you and that is something that my life is going to be about, be it long or short. So, I should embrace it properly. I said before the wedding that I wanted us to make a good go at it, that I wanted us to be friends, and you agreed. Until being here, I hadn't quite worked out how to actually achieve that, I think I wrongly assumed it would just work out. Maybe it would have, but I think that I can help it along a bit, by trying harder. I was trying to push your love away for a time, because I was so scared of it. I've decided to stop being scared of it, Cora. Death is the only thing to be afraid of, your love is certainly not."

She lifts her head from his shoulder and her gaze meets his. Her eyes are glassy with tears, but he can tell by the pink blotches on her cheeks and the upturn of her lips, that they are tears of joy. He thinks it might be the most beautiful smile he has ever seen on her face. He leans forward and kisses her forehead.

The sun was shining, in that autumnal way that was not altogether warm, but neither did it yet possess the sharp chill of winter. She and her mother were wrapped up in wintery coats, but for the few hours they were going to be outside it was good enough. They had refused the offers of the staff to bring chairs and tables down to the beach and were instead sat on some blankets. With some cushions scattered around them in a perimeter so that could lean against them. They had sheltered themselves from the slightly bitter wind by positioning themselves at the base of the cliff, tucked into a small cove in the rock.

Harold had found their old beach games in a cupboard in their old school room and intended to play later, or so he had told her, and that would keep them warm if nothing else did. She had been worried about including the games in her day, but he had assured her that this was as much a memory of their father as all the memories they might describe to Robert. Cora rather suspected Harold just wanted to see which of them was the better sportsman, but she had chosen not to argue. She had enjoyed those games, and her father had always been a part of that, it would be nice to share that with Robert.

She felt like they had come a long way during their time in America. More than a long way. Robert had been attentive and caring as she had expected. What she had not expected was for him to be so affected by what had happened with her father. She knew, now that he had repeated it twice, that he was serious about taking her love for him seriously and 'embracing' it as he liked to say. Her romantic mind could not help thinking that maybe the moment was with them and that he was possibly starting to fall in love with her. Her father had always advocated that he thought it was possible, and she had been taking Harold's advice about their intimate relationship – even if that was somewhat on hold on that moment. She didn't like to get her hopes up, once back at Downton and he was consumed with estate business and she with her 'Countess lessons' things might very well revert to how they had been – a mainly friendship-based marriage. Only time would tell, all she could do was to keep doing as she had been, since that seemed to be bringing Robert closer to her.

"I have something for you Cora dear, from your father." Even the mention of her father was enough to still make her heart constrict tightly and his face to loom before her like it did in her nightmares. But it was also slightly shocking in this context, given that he was no longer here, it seemed odd that she was now about to receive something from him via her mother. Why had he not given it to her before he died?

"What is it?"

"You'll see." Her mother passes her a neatly wrapped little parcel. She takes it and immediately gives it a little squeeze – it is soft, not firm, and a completely unidentifiable shape. "There's a note too," her mother now hands her an envelope, "I've written it, but he dictated it and just about managed to sign the bottom." She decides to open the note first. She takes it from the envelope with her name on and settles back against her chair, leaving the package in her lap.

She can feel everyone's gaze on her as she unfolds the single sleeve of paper and begins to read. A letter from a dead man was always likely to be odd, but this was decidedly emotional, given the proximity of the relationship and the demise.

My dearest Cora,

It is your birthday next week and I have neglected to organise a gift. It seems I have been losing track of days. I fear though, that the time has come for me to select something and allow your mother to organise it, after all, I doubt I will be here to see my dearest daughter turn twenty. Two decades of life, my dearest girl, and how wonderful they have been. I wish you all the health and prosperity to ensure you live many more decades.

I fear your celebrations may be rather usurped by grief and death, but I hope your mother finds a moment to give you this gift before you return to England.

This was going to be the gift I sent to you on the birth of your first child Cora, but I shall not be there for that. So, I entrust it to you now, to give you good luck in bringing the next generation of my family into this world and then to your first-born son or daughter, to give them good fortune all their life long, from the Grandpa they will never know.

It is only left to say that I love you, so very much and that I wish you all the good fortune and best wishes in the world for every day for your whole life long.

Daddy xx

She doesn't need to open the package to know what it contains, the wording gives him away, but she opens it anyway. She opens it so she can hold the stuff toy dog to her nose and inhale the scent of her father that still lingers on it.

She doesn't realise she is crying until she feels a hand on her back, rubbing at the space between her shoulder blades. His handkerchief appears next and she takes it quickly, placing the toy in her lap to dab at her eyes. His hand continues his repetitive gestures and her nose is flooded with the scent of his cologne and whiffs of Downton that linger on his handkerchief. Both offer her great comfort and allow her thoughts to return to the present rather than festering in the fog of her grief.

"He's rather a handsome little chap, is he a toy from your childhood?" His hand brushes over the little toy dog where it sits in her lap. She swallows, her eyes flickering to the letter that sits beneath and the emotions it would stir in her once more if she read it. It seemed that now was also the time to begin to share her memories. She balls the handkerchief into her fist and begins to tease at the corner seam with her other hand.

"Sort of. He belongs to my father, or rather, he did." Sometimes she still forgot that he is gone. "I'm not sure when he acquired him, but I do know he's been patched up a few times over the years. When I was a girl, if I was good, he would let me play with him. This was only allowed to happen on the floor of his study. He said that the dog was his good luck charm, and if he didn't remain in the study then his business would not prosper."

"I see. And were you always well behaved enough to make sure it remained in the study?" His eyes are crinkled at the sides, suggesting that he knows she is more than capable of breaking the rules. There was no doubt that she was, in relation to him, and their marriage – she did indeed like to test the boundaries and she was still exploring them. But her father had been different.

"I was actually. This is the first time I have ever seen him out of the study."

"Goodness Robert, you don't know Cora very well if you think if she would ever break the rules. She always was annoyingly perfect." Harold chuckles to himself. Cora lets her eyes drift up to Robert's. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly, silently telling her that he didn't quite agree with her brother's comments.

"Does he have a name?" She shakes her head, for some reason she had never named this soft toy, maybe because she assumed her father had given it a name that she was not privy to, given that it had been his. Not that she had ever asked, and now it was too late. She swallows the lump in her throat, it wouldn't do to start crying again. They were returning to Downton next week and she would have to keep her emotions under control there.

"Do you know if he ever had a name Mother?" Her mother seems to contemplate this for a second before shaking her head.

"No, I don't think so. Your father certainly never mentioned one."

"It seems a very sweet gift, you shall have to find a place for it in your room at Downton, or maybe in your sitting room when Mama decides where that will be, so you can remember your father when you see it." She swallows, he would find out eventually, so it was best to mention it now, regardless of the emotions it was going to stir within her.

"Daddy asks that I give it to our first-born child, to bring them luck. I guess it would be nice that a part of him will be with him or her." Her voice cracks and she swallows to shift the lump of emotion away.

"In which case, we can place it ready and waiting in the nursery when we get home." His hand has reached across the gap between them once again and is squeezing her hand. The hand on her back had not wavering in its slow process of making comforting circles. She folds the letter back into the envelope and the dog back into the paper, placing them gently onto the blanket.

"Robert, has Cora ever told you the stories about how she used to tease her poor younger brother on the beach by pulling down his shorts." She knows she gasps audibly as she swings her gaze around to Harold. She can also the feel the heat rushing into her cheeks as Robert laughs beside her.

"Don't say that as though I was the terrible child. I only ever did it after you had chased me into the sea and splashed water in my face. I never liked it when you did that." Harold is grinning from ear to ear. She can feel Robert's body shaking with laughter beside her, she turns to him. "Don't laugh, you'll only encourage him Robert. Harold needs no encouragement to embarrass me, I can assure you."

"Sorry, but I have this simply wonderful picture in my head of a little chap with his shorts around his ankles and a young version of you stood with wet hair and her hands on her hips glaring at him. In my head it is all highly amusing."

"That is sort of what it used to look like actually." Her mother pipes up from the other side of the blankets, laughing as she does so. Cora rolls her eyes, she wasn't going to win, not with them all set on embarrassing her in front of Robert.

"I thought today was meant to be about sharing our memories of father, not embarrassing me."

"It is also your birthday celebration and it's mandatory to tell Robert a few of your embarrassing stories." Harold is smirking and she rolls her eyes again. "Otherwise he might never know what Cora Levinson was like. We can't only have him knowing this sophisticated Viscountess his mother is turning you into." Without pausing for breath, he launches into another embarrassing story about their childhood antics when they had hidden under a table at one of their parents' balls and managed to topple a whole tray of drinks onto the floor when they had tugged too hard on the tablecloth amid a fight for the best view of the guests' feet from their hiding place. Needless to say, they hadn't remained unnoticed for long.

From that the conversation moves naturally to more tales of her and Harold in their childhood, some embarrassing and some just memories. Those begin to weave naturally into their memories of their father – how he had told them off or laughed with them. They speak about the things he had taught them, and his patience. They laugh mainly, all four of them, but there are moments of sombre reflection too as a certain memory stills one or more of them into silence, as they experience a stark reminder of the fact he is no longer here, laughing with them, as he should be.

Robert seems to be able to sense when something might overcome her, and either takes her hand or presses his hand between her shoulder blades to offer his reassurance. He was a comfort, she had learnt that early on in the grief process. His touch had the power to take it all away and even the simple touch of his hand through layers and layers of fabric was enough to steady her heart rate and give her a chance to chase the tears away.

It surprises her when Robert opts to share his first impressions of her father from his meetings with him in Paris. He describes how he had been terrified that this man he didn't know was going to force him to marry Cora after he had walked her home that morning in Paris. This wasn't news to Cora, she had been there, and she had been on the receiving end of her father's anger at her behaviour. What does surprise her is what Robert goes on to say next.

"I remember him saying that he valued Cora much more highly than that and he wasn't about to marry her off to a man she had known two minutes." Robert turns to her now and takes her hand from his lap and squeezes it tightly between both of his own. He raises her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles, forcing her to look up into his eyes. His gaze is unwavering as his blue eyes trace over her face, watching for her reaction as he speaks. "He told me quite openly that he loved you and that he valued you above all else and then he confessed he was dying and didn't want you to see that. I remember being dumbstruck by the emotion of it all, bearing in mind I didn't know him at all, or him me." Cora just holds Robert's gaze as the fog of grief mists around her thoughts again. Her mother sighs deeply before commenting.

"That was typical Isidore. He hated upsetting people. His health was weighing on his mind and he hadn't told any of us at that point. He met you Robert, and saw someone he could trust with his secret but wouldn't be emotionally overcome with it, since you didn't know him. It was his way of releasing some of his tension without having to deal with the emotional fall out that would have followed him telling one of us."

They lapse into silence, Cora supposes that her mother and Harold were as overcome as she was by Robert's declaration. It was different to hear him spoken about from Robert's point of view since he was the one of them that knew him least. This was also a new conversation to all of them, this was not a memory that they could all comment on as the others had been, this was unique to Robert. Cora wasn't even sure if her brother and mother had been aware that Robert had known about the cancer long before their courtship and wedding. She knew her mother had found out by snooping about behind her father's back, but she didn't know when that had been – it was possible Robert had known about the cancer before any of them. Her mother is shuffling uncomfortably on the other side of the blanket and then she suddenly starts whispering softly into the space between them all.

"Isidore was nothing if not a wonderful judge of character, so I think maybe that tells us the most important thing of all. He liked you Robert, right from the start. As we move forward, maybe we should try to remember that. He is gone, but you've joined our family with his blessing. Even with the ocean between us, I think we should try and look out for each other as best we can."

Cora wasn't stupid. She knew that it was never going to be the same without her father. She also knew it was going to be much more complicated than her mother's gentle tone insinuated for the two families to remain intimately connected (even when, eventually, they would share blood descendants). She found her mother hard enough to get along with most of the time, she doubted Lady Grantham would ever warm to her. It might be possible, maybe, for Robert to at least tolerate her mother and brother. But, in that moment, sat on the beach with the wind threatening to blow up into a storm, and the sun racing quickly behind a cloud, with Robert's gentle pressing on her back and all their eyes glassy from emotion, anything seemed possible, and hope for the future swelled within her. Her father had passed on, but her life was still before her, and he had blessed it.