May 13, 1915

Cora Crawley bid Baxter goodnight and remained seated at her vanity, sighing to herself. It had been about three weeks since Doctor Clarkson had practically forced her to stop breast feeding. And if he had not spoken to Nanny, Cora would have pretended as though he'd not said anything about it. She had wanted to feed her own child, and she had done so for more than five months.

But those five months had been difficult, she could not deny it. She had been tired and terrible upset and, as time went on, she had been in pain as well. She hadn't known what to do, and she had been so terribly alone with all of it. She could hardly speak to Mama about it, the only other mother that Cora really knew. Isobel might have been some help, but Cora had not wanted to be overly vulnerable with the headstrong former nurse. The girls were not blind to seeing how their mother struggled, but she would not burden them. And the servants were helpful and well-meaning but none of them could understand what Cora was trying to cope with. Baxter and Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore and Anna and Nanny were all such a help. But there was only so much they could do.

Now, having been free from breastfeeding for three weeks, Cora's body had finally healed. Her body had healed, and she had been sleeping better and eating better. All was not as it was before, though. She felt more like herself but things were still off. Her bouts of depression had lessened but not entirely gone away. And a part of that, she knew, was due to Robert.

Since John was born, Robert had been sleeping in his dressing room. During the birth and for the first night thereafter, it made sense. He'd done the same when the girls were born, too. But then when she'd finally gotten a full night's sleep and recovered, he was back in her bed where he'd been nearly every night of their marriage. Except for now. Nearly months on, he was still sleeping in his dressing room.

More than that, he had been ignoring her. He did not seek her out during the day, did not invite her to join him in his tasks, did not seem to ask her much of anything or talk to her anymore. Cora had not been herself, she knew, but she had not thought that Robert would ever abandon her. And he had.

But she was more herself now than she'd been in months. She was doing alright at last. And it was time to confront this distance with her husband and solve it, if at all possible.

Cora waited until Baxter had left. She was in her dressing gown and very tired, but she did not want to leave this one more night. She quietly made her way to the door that connected her bedroom with Robert's dressing room. She stood by the door and tried to see if she could hear anything inside. All was silent. So she knocked.

Muffled footsteps approached the door and it opened. Robert stood there in his own dressing gown and slippers with concern. "What is it, Cora?"

She swallowed hard. "I wanted to talk to you."

Robert frowned. "Alright."

Cora turned and walked over to the chaise by the fireplace and sat on its edge. Robert followed her, taking his chair across from her where he'd often sat to read or talk with her while the maid was dressing her for dinner or readying her for bed. He had not sat there for a long time.

When she did not immediately speak, wringing her hands anxiously, Robert spoke instead. "It's late. Perhaps this is something we should discuss tomorrow. You're obviously very tired."

She looked up sharply. "I am tired, Robert. Tired of this."

"Tired of what?"

Sometimes it was hard to know if he was confused or just willfully ignorant of things. But Cora did not want to think ill of him like that. "Why have you kept away from me?" she asked softly, cutting right to the heart of it. Her voice lost its strength, as though saying the words too loud would make the situation even worse. "I know I've not been myself, and I am sorry for that. More sorry than I can say. I have been trying, and I've been feeling better. But you…"

"But I what?" Robert pressed.

Oh god, she did not want to give voice to her greatest fears. But she knew she had to if she ever hoped to solve this between them. Cora swallowed hard and looked right into Robert's eyes. "Now that I have given you a son and heir, am I no longer of any value to you? Do you no longer have cause to love me?"

Robert's jaw dropped. "Oh my darling," he breathed. He sprang up from his chair and fell to his knees before her, taking her fidgeting hands in his. He kissed them reverently. "My darling, I love you more than anything on this earth. Oh Cora, I am so terribly sorry."

Cora felt the tears sting her eyes. Robert's reaction was all she had wanted, but it did not provide her any explanation. The relief and confusion combined were overwhelming. "Then why…?"

He stood up just to be able to sit on the chaise beside her and pull her into his arms. "I had no idea, Cora. I knew you were tired and unwell. I knew you were not yourself. And I thought that my presence would only be more burden for you. I wanted to keep away from you so you could rest and recover on your own."

She clung to him, realizing how long it had been since she had been in his arms like this. The comfort of his touch, the sheer miracle of his embrace. "I needed you," she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

"I didn't know," he answered.

It was in Cora's mind to counter by saying that he didn't ask. But that would be cruel. She should have known, of course, that Robert's intentions were honorable. They always were. He cared for her and loved her. Of course he did not abandon her. Of course he only wanted to give her time and space without his burden, as he'd said. He had done the same thing early in their marriage when he would only come to her bedroom once or twice in a week, worrying that his amorous attentions any more frequently might be unwelcome.

Just as she'd done then, Cora had now avoided the subject and hoped that Robert would come to the same realization on his own: that she loved and adored him and wanted only to be with him now and always. But she should have known that if she did not press forward between them, nothing would ever happen. So now the problem could be solved.

"Robert," she said, lifting her head up to look at him. He smiled affectionately and wiped her tears away. "Robert, let's go to bed."

He nodded and stood up, taking her hand and kissing it once more. They each removed their slippers and dressing gowns and got into their respective sides of the bed for the first time in five months.

Cora turned out the light and rolled over to snuggle against her husband. He welcomed her into his arms as he had done hundreds of times before. She made to kiss him, but he turned his head and kissed her cheek instead.

"Rest well, my dearest," he whispered.

And Cora was quite tired. She put her head against Robert's shoulder and closed her eyes, finally content.

May 16, 1915

Anna Bates knocked gently on Lady Edith's door and waited to be called inside. It was a bright spring morning, but the mood inside that bedroom was dark and dreary. Madge, who had been taking care of Lady Edith and Lady Sybil since Lady Mary had gotten married and promoted Anna to her lady's maid, was sick today. Anna offered to take on the additional duties until Madge was well again.

"Good morning, milady," Anna greeted.

Lady Edith was already up and sitting at her vanity with a slumped posture. "Good morning, Anna. Madge still not well?"

"I'm afraid not. Are you feeling alright?" Anna had a feeling she knew the answer, but perhaps Lady Edith wanted to talk about it. She'd been so distraught for months now. Some days better than others.

"He died five months ago today. I didn't find out about it until nine days later. But Sir Anthony was killed on December Sixteenth. The same day John was born. Everyone else in the family can remember it as a happy day. I can't."

Anna went about her task getting Lady Edith's clothes in order. Black still. "I am terribly sorry for your loss. Everyone is. Do you think, though, that the mourning period might be over soon?"

Lady Edith's head snapped to Anna with a fire in his eyes. "You think I should forget the man I loved, the man who was to be my husband?"

"Not at all," Anna answered gently. "I only meant that tragedy took him before he could become your husband. I have no doubt you loved him, but you did not get the opportunity to live as his wife."

"No," Lady Edith agreed bitterly. "I instead can grieve for all that never was."

"I am sorry, milady," Anna said quietly.

Lady Edith sighed, "No, I know you're right. I'm sorry for snapping. It's only that I was so sure that I'd be able to finally find some happiness for myself, and it was gone before I even got to have it."

"There will be others." It was an optimistic thought. Perhaps too optimistic. But Anna, having gotten the great fortune of marrying the man she loved, was inclined to believe that such happiness could come to anyone.

But Lady Edith gave a very sad smile at that. "We're in the midst of a war, Anna. How many men do you think will come home?"

A very sobering thought indeed.

May 20, 1915

Robert Crawley hesitated before opening the door connecting his dressing room to Cora's bedroom. Their bedroom. It had become their bedroom once again. Well, it was in the sense that Robert now slept there each night. But it wasn't quite theirs in the same sense as it used to be. Robert felt it, and he knew Cora did too.

He wanted to fix things between them. He'd thought it had been fixed last week when she had come to him and asked him if he still loved her. The guilt that had consumed him was overwhelming, even still. Sybil had warned him, but Robert hadn't known what to do. He'd known Cora needed him, and he hadn't known how to help her, so he had done nothing and avoided her and probably made things worse.

Now, it seemed, they were over one hurdle and faltering at the next. It had been more than half a year since Robert Crawley had made love to his wife. That was one aspect of their relationship that, after the initial awkward fumblings of their honeymoon, had always been quite magnificent. Even before he had fallen in love with her properly—or realized his love for her—Robert had always enjoyed their marital duties, and he knew that Cora had as well.

And he'd managed to get her pregnant again after so many years thanks to the blissful frequency of their lovemaking over the years. At forty-six years old, Cora had gotten pregnant and given birth to a perfect baby boy. And Robert was well aware of his part in all of that.

But having John had changed things. This pregnancy had been more difficult than when Cora was much younger. And her delicacy had necessitated a certain distance between them, even if he did still try and maintain that beautiful intimacy that they treasured. After the birth, however, things had changed even more. Cora had gone through so much. She had suffered. And she had spent all that time feeding their son from her breast like some kind of commoner. Her body was no longer her own but rather a vessel first to grow and birth John and then to feed and nurture him.

Even now, after she'd stopped all of that, she was still different. Different and delicate and precious. Robert sometimes feared that she might shatter if he even touched her.

It had been a full week now, sharing a bed with his wife and doing his best to keep away from her still. What else could he do? He would not hurt her or force himself upon her in any way. He would not make things worse for her with his own base needs. Would she even want him the way she used to? Would it be the same between them? Robert feared the answers to those questions.

And so, here he was, lying in the darkness, staring at her sleeping form, wanting more than anything in the world to have his wife back with him yet feeling as though she might be lost to him forever.

May 30, 1915

Charles Carson was not one too often distracted by the world outside of his domain at Downton Abbey. Lately, it was getting difficult to ignore all that did not directly concern the running of the household. Mr. Carson did not like distractions. He did not appreciate things that took him or anyone under his supervision away from their duties. But today was more difficult than usual.

It was a quiet afternoon. Lady Edith had gone to see the Dowager Countess for tea. Branson had driven Lady Sybil into Thirsk. Lady Mary was visiting Mrs. Crawley. Lord and Lady Grantham had taken Isis, the dog, outside for some exercise. The family was all out and about, and the staff were busy preparing things for the evening. Carson decided to take a little walk to clear his mind.

He did not have any destination in mind, though if anyone had questioned him, he could have come up with something. He went up the stairs and journeyed through the labyrinthine halls by the bachelor's wing and back around through more corridors.

But his mind would not clear. Perhaps he needed a more concrete task. William, as the footman, was charged with polishing the silver when needed, but it might be a good way for Carson to be a bit more at ease if he just did it himself. But he could just imagine what Mrs. Hughes would say if she caught him doing that, particularly when there were no guests coming to give need for the lesser used silver. No, better not.

"Mr. Carson, is that you?"

He turned when he heard Nanny's voice come from the nursery he had just passed.

She stood in the hallway and smiled. "I was just about to ring. I need to talk to Mrs. Patmore about the baby's formula."

"I can ask her to come up," Carson offered.

"Or I could pop down to the kitchen for a moment, if you wouldn't mind waiting here with him for just a moment?"

Ordinarily, Carson would balk at such a request. But he wasn't in the midst of anything at the moment. And how could he refuse an opportunity to see the little viscount? "Very well," he conceded.

Nanny led Carson into the nursery and explained, "He should be coming awake soon. Doesn't usually fuss. He's a very good little lad. But it's nearly time for his feed and I need to make some adjustments, so I want to talk to Mrs. Patmore before she prepares the formula. I'll be right back."

With that, she left, and Carson was alone with the baby. He leaned over the cot and saw the boy sleeping peacefully. Nearly six months old now. Hard to believe. His very existence was hard to believe sometimes. But here he was, the beloved son of the earl. John Robert Crawley, Viscount Downton.

The family had not said why they had chosen that name. Robert after His Lordship, of course. But John…Carson suspected it was in honor of Bates and how he had rescued Lady Grantham and the unborn child on that horrific day she'd suffered her seizure. Naming the heir to the estate after a valet was highly improper, but under the circumstances—if that was really what they had done—Carson felt less bothered by the whole thing.

Just then, dark eyelashes fluttered and revealed bright blue eyes. Carson could not help but smile. All four of Lady Grantham's babies had been born with magnificent blue eyes like their parents. But Lady Mary's had turned dark after a few months, as had Lady Edith's. Lady Sybil's went from a pale blue-gray to her lovely turquoise. But now, after almost six months, Lord Downton's blue eyes had remained just the same. And he had a dark head of hair. All in all, he looked very much like Lady Grantham, as much as Lady Edith did but for the eye color.

Carson had seen most of the Crawley family grow up over the years. The current Lord Grantham and Lady Rosamund had been school children when Carson had been hired as a hall boy. In fact, the then Lord Downton had been away at Eton and Carson had not even seen him for several months after coming to Downton Abbey.

"How different the world was then," he said softly.

The little viscount began to wiggle, but as Nanny had predicted, he did not fuss. Just wiggled and stared up at the butler.

"You're entering a world different than those your sisters were born into," Carson told the baby boy. "Your life will be different from theirs, of course, by the nature of your title at birth. But we were at war when you came into this world. And now with Italy declaring war on Austro-Hungary just last week, it seems this war is consuming the whole world. The Ottomans and all through Africa and Russia and the whole of Europe. But the British Empire shall live on, my young Lord, I promise you that. This estate of yours will live on. We'll make it through somehow. And you'll be leading us all into the future before long."

"There we are. No trouble, was he?" Nanny said, coming back into the nursery.

Carson turned and gave a small smile. "No. No trouble at all."