Author's Note: This chapter is partially rated M.
June 6, 1915
Matthew Crawley stepped off the ship and breathed in the fresh air of England for the first time in months. He would spend the night here at the army lodging and then go right up to Downton first thing in the morning. Already, though, he felt he was home.
"Matthew!" came the cry of a familiar voice.
Turning sharply, Matthew saw the slim, beautiful figure of his Mary hurrying toward him. He dropped his case and opened his arms as she leapt into them. "Mary, my darling, what are you doing here!?" he asked, hugging her tight.
"I got your telegram where you gave your train information and made plans to come see you. I couldn't bear waiting another day," she said. "I arrived yesterday and stayed at Aunt Rosamund's for the night so I could be sure to be here to meet your train."
Matthew thought his face might split from smiling. "I am so glad you did. Oh what a wonderful surprise!"
"Oh Matthew, I've missed you so."
"And I you." He pulled back just enough so he could look at her face. Her sweet smile that lit up his heart. She did not smile often, his Mary. She was not morose like Edith, but she also was not bright and cheerful like Sybil. But Mary's smiles were just infrequent enough to be powerful when they did appear. And to know that she smiled for him was quite possibly the best feeling in all the world.
"Come, I have Aunt Rosamund's car for us. Let's get your things settled. I want you all to myself today before we go home tomorrow and see the rest of the family," Mary said. She stepped back so he could pick up his case and offer his arm.
"Speaking of home, how is everyone?" he asked.
"Well, all in all. I've been having tea with your mother about once each week. She wants for us to be friends, which is terribly sweet of her. I don't think she and I shall get on as well as she does with Sybil, but we both miss you terribly when you're away, so we have that in common," Mary said.
Matthew smiled at that. "She mentioned that in one of her letters. She appreciates that you've been making the effort with her."
Mary hummed in response.
"And the rest of the Crawleys?"
"Edith is still moping after Anthony Strallen. Sybil is getting more involved with her charities. Mama is doing better. She had a terrible time coping after John was born, though why she ever wanted to feed him herself was beyond me. And Papa is the same as ever, the stalwart leader for us all."
"I look forward to seeing them all. And your baby brother. I imagine he's much bigger now than when I left," Matthew added.
"Oh yes, he's quite a nice little thing now. He hardly ever cries, and as he gets bigger, he's looking more and more like Papa, which pleases him to no end. He's got Mama's eyes and nose and dark hair like us, but it curls like Papa's, and he's got the same chubby cheeks and big ears. It's rather adorable," Mary chuckled.
Matthew nearly said that he was looking forward to seeing what their son would look like one day, but he stopped himself. He was only in England for ten days before he had to go back to France. It was still far too early to talk of a future that might never happen.
June 11, 1915
Cora Crawley was at her wit's end. She was convinced now, after three weeks, that Robert did still love her after the baby. But given the fact that it had been more than six months since he had touched her with any sort of amorous intention, she had come to accept that he no longer desired her. Perhaps this was it. Robert was about to turn fifty. Perhaps he had lost interest in that side of things. It was something that happened to men of a certain age, wasn't it?
And really, Cora could hardly blame him. She'd recovered so easily from birth when she had the girls. It had taken a few months, but then she'd been just as slim and pretty as always. That was a long time ago, though. A lot had changed in the eighteen years between Sybil and John. Her body and her mind and her very soul had been decimated by John's birth. And even though she was feeling like herself again and her body was healed, she felt sluggish and unattractive. Perhaps that was just how she would be from now on. Maybe this was the reality she needed to get used to.
But oh she hated it. She wanted to be young and beautiful again. She wanted to arouse her husband and lay herself bare to his attentions. She wanted him to love her the way he used to. She had been everything to him, she once thought. Cora wanted that again.
She didn't like to think about it. It broke her heart and made her terribly sad. But in some moments, deep in her mind where she hardly dared let herself go, it enraged her. And now, as she silently waited for Baxter to plait her hair for bed and Robert sat in his usual chair by the fire reading a book in his dressing gown, Cora felt the fury grow from an ember into a roaring blaze.
"Thank you, Baxter. Goodnight," Cora snapped as soon as the maid was finished. It wasn't fair to Baxter that Cora be so peevish with her, but she couldn't help it now.
Baxter murmured a goodnight in response and hurried out of the room. Cora and Robert were left on their own. And Cora was seething mad.
Robert must have noticed the strange mood. He put his book aside and started taking off his slippers. "Time for bed, I suppose. Are you alright?" he asked warily.
Cora glared at him in the mirror. "Have I not been a good wife to you?" she asked, her voice low and dangerous.
He looked back at her with confusion. "Of course you have. Cora, what are you talking about?"
She turned sharply, angling her body towards him, spoiling for a fight in a way she'd hardly ever dared before. "I've spent six months heartbroken, suffering for our son, clawing my way back to myself, and for what? You sleep in my bed again. You claim you love me. But things are not as they were, Robert, and we both know it. I tried to be understanding, and when I couldn't, my pride and my feelings were shattered. Well, I've spent enough time being heartbroken over you."
Robert was utterly bewildered. He stood up with his bare feet and his dressing gown loose around him. "What the devil is going on? What have I done!?"
"Nothing!" she cried, slamming her hand down on the vanity table and standing up, fuming. "That is just it! I know I was distant, and I know I'm not as young as I once was, and I know my body is a husk of what you once enjoyed, but my god, how can you cast me aside without a word!? How can you claim to love me and sleep beside me and be content to never touch me, to never let me touch you!?"
His jaw dropped. He made to speak, but Cora wouldn't let him.
"If this is what our marriage is to be from now on, so be it. I'll not force myself on you, hideous thing you find me to be now. But honestly, Robert, how dare you claim to love me and yet throw our love away?"
Her words cut him deep, which is what she had intended to do. It was an awful, awful side to her that she'd always kept hidden away. From the time she was a little girl, she would at times get angry and lash out and hurt those around her. Father had warned her of the wicked tongue she'd inherited from Mother, to be careful not to destroy those she loved. And Cora had tried very hard to not let herself get angry, and if she felt the rage building in her, she would tamp it down or else just go off by herself until she calmed down. Tonight, she had foolishly let her wicked tongue run away with her. She had wanted to make Robert feel the same hurt that she'd been forced to confront. And she'd done it.
Robert moved toward her, reaching out to touch her cheek as he'd done so often as a small show of affection. Cora batted his hand away. "Stop that," she snapped. "Don't do me any favors."
"You think me so unfeeling?" he spat, his hurt now turning to anger to match hers.
"You haven't told me I'm wrong," she fired back.
"Of course you're wrong!" he shouted. "Do you really believe that I no longer ache for your touch, to feel you beneath me, to lose myself in your embrace? My god, Cora, you've just had a baby!"
"Six months ago! And I've had three babies before this, and that never stopped you before." It was true. Even with Sybil, even when childbirth had been long and complicated and Cora had been stuck in bed for a week to recover, Robert had rejoined her in bed and made love to her the first moment she indicated to him that she was ready for such things. She had tried more than once in the last few weeks since he had started sharing her bed again, but he had rebuffed her. Gently and subtly, but it was a rejection nonetheless.
"That was different and you know it," he insisted with a growl.
"Yes, that was when I was young and could still be desirable to you. And if all of that is gone, I wish you would just tell me so I can let the hope die along with our love life," she snarled.
Robert moved suddenly, grabbing her upper arms so tight she was rather sure he'd leave bruises, and his lips crashed into hers. Cora hardly knew what was happening. In six months, they'd hardly shared a peck let alone any hint of passion. But dear lord, there was passion in him now. She was startled at first but melted against him. His kiss was like an oasis in the desert. Manna from heaven. All she wanted in all the world was him, to know that he in turn wanted her, that the beauty of their love was not gone.
He pulled back, breathing heavily and searching her face. His blue eyes were full of worry, silently asking if he had gone too far. Cora felt the smile curl over her lips. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him back in for another heated kiss. Their lips moved together as though no time had passed. Tongues sliding and seeking as magnificently as ever.
As the kiss deepened, Robert's hands left her arms and wandered up and down her waist, over her back, and down to her bum. He pulled her flush against him and lifted at the back of her thighs. Cora leapt into his arms and wrapped her long legs around his waist, kicking off her slippers in the process. Their kiss never broke as he carried her over the well-worn path to their bed. He placed her down gently. Only then did they break apart.
Cora immediately got up on her knees and threw her dressing gown off her arms. Robert did the same and got onto the bed with her. Her fingers went to the buttons of his pajama shirt. His went to the hem of her nightgown. He balled it up in his fists and pulled it up over her head, interrupting her halfway through his buttons.
She froze. She was bare but for her drawers. It was strange, the way she'd gotten used to baring herself when she was breastfeeding, but Robert had always turned away if he was in the room at all. This was the first time he'd really seen her body since long before John was born.
He swallowed hard. "Cora," he said, voice thick with arousal. "My Cora."
Oh how long she'd yearned for him to say those words, to know that he did truly still desire her, that she could still please him and be pleased by him like this, that this beautiful part of their marriage was not gone.
His lips found hers once more, and this time his hands mapped the contours of her bare flesh. She tingled wherever he touched her, and when his palms cupped her breasts, she gasped against his mouth. Robert groaned and redoubled his efforts. His kisses traveled down her jaw and neck. Little moans escaped her between her panting breaths. He laid her down on the bed and continued his journey. She felt his tongue dart out against her breast. It felt nothing like when she'd been breastfeeding. Such things were far from her mind now. Her body was healed, and now so was her marriage.
Robert's free hand moved down her belly—no longer as taut and flat as it once had been—and slipped beneath the waistband of her drawers to gently venture between her legs. "God, Robert!" she cried out.
He pulled away from her breast to say, "Cora, I need you."
"Oh yes," she answered, desperate for him.
Robert sat up only to rid himself of his pajamas and to remove the last barrier between them. Cora could not even bother to get under the bedsheets. She was too eager to have him. She spread her legs to welcome him in the cradle of her thighs. Neither of them needed much preparation, since it seemed somehow that both of them had been waiting and wanting for so long. Robert thrust inside her in one swift, powerful movement. Cora gasped at the sensation after so many months without him. Her fingers gripped his shoulders and her ankles linked behind his back. He moved steadily within her, and she matched his rhythm without difficulty. Their panting breaths filled the room as they moved together, faster and harder and deeper.
Cora could feel herself right on the edge, the madness nearly overtaking her. The sounds fell from her lips without her realizing it as she begged for him. He in turn murmured her name over and over like a benediction. The pressure coiled deep in her belly and threatened to pull her apart until at last she reached her climax and tumbled over the edge into the pulsing pleasure of oblivion.
A moment later, Robert sputtered and spilled himself within her. She held him there, still and slick with sweat, until his strength finally gave way. Robert slipped out of her body and rolled over onto his back.
Once she caught her breath, Cora maneuvered herself under the covers. Robert did the same, and they settled themselves together as they often had in post-coital glow. Cora wrapped herself around her husband's body, her head resting on his chest and their legs tangled together under the sheets.
The comforting silence was broken when Robert finally spoke. "There shall never be a day, so long as I live, even when I am old and feeble, when I will not desire you. I only worried that my need for you would be harmful in some way," he explained.
She squeezed her eyes shut to keep any tears at bay. "I thought you didn't want me."
"Nothing could ever be further from the truth," he assured her.
A laugh bubbled up in the back of her throat, and she lightly swatted his arm. "I do wish you'd stop being so noble sometimes."
He laughed in return, gently rubbing her back. "Well, I was hardly going to ravish you when you weren't feeling well."
"I'm feeling fine now. You can ravish me whenever the mood strikes."
All of a sudden, Robert flipped them over so Cora was on her back and he hovered over her. "The mood has stricken."
Cora laughed joyously until his kisses distracted her from humor to pleasure and passion once more. After all, they had more than six months to make up for.
June 15, 1915
Violet Crawley gazed around the dinner table with a smile. The whole family was there, all together again at last, and all happy. Well, almost all happy. Edith seemed pleasant enough, but she still insisted on wearing black. But everyone else was there just as they should be.
This was to be Matthew's last night at home before going back to the war. His leave had been all too short. Mary had been so down, missing him. With him here, she was brighter than Violet had ever seen her eldest granddaughter. Mary had found love and happiness with Matthew Crawley in a manner no one had ever really anticipated. She would not be the next Countess of Grantham, but she had made her choice. She would live a fine life as Matthew's wife.
In honor of Matthew's final evening with them, Isobel was present for dinner as well. She was an odd sort. Violet could never really decide from one moment to the next if she found the woman exasperating, admirable, amusing, interesting, or loathsome. Perhaps all things all at once. But she was now Mary's mother-in-law, so they were all stuck with her. Pity she didn't live across an ocean the way Robert's mother-in-law did.
Robert was another object of Violet's interest of late. She was always concerned about her son's wellbeing, of course, but he had seemed somewhat unlike himself for these last few months, somehow. Perhaps it was the war. Perhaps it was being a new father again after so long and to a son at last. But Violet had a sinking suspicion that Robert and Cora had been struggling. Except in the very early days of their marriage, Robert and Cora had never struggled. Not between them. It was embarrassing to witness, at times, the way Violet's son was so hideously besotted with his American bride.
Cora, too, had certainly been out of sorts. Well, who could blame her, having another baby at forty-six years old!? The very idea of it was horrifying to Violet's mind. But despite her shamefully delicate constitution, Cora had managed to finally give them all an heir. A wonderful son for Robert to pass the estate to and to keep everything in the family. Cora hadn't coped well, though, in bringing baby John into the world and managing thereafter. Violet had witnessed it for months and kept hoping that she'd come out of it on her own.
Now, it seemed she had. The woman across the table from Violet was dressed in pale pink and looked as bright and shining as she ever had. Even if Cora did not have the strength to be a countess, Violet had to admit she was a beautiful woman—even still—and possessed a regal elegance that presented quite well. If nothing else, Violet was pleased with her for that.
Beside Violet, Robert was in grand humor. He was smiling and laughing and talking enthusiastically about all manner of things. As a mother, Violet was pleased to see her son so happy. Whatever had happened to cause the change in him had done a world of good. Violet was rather certain it probably had everything to do with the way Cora smiled and laughed across from him.
Whatever it was that had occurred, it had solved everyone's worries for the time being. And thank goodness for that. There was a war going on. Quite enough to worry about without Violet having to be concerned with the tedious feelings of her family members.
July 2, 1915
Tom Branson stood in the library of Downton Abbey gazing over the shelves and shelves and shelves of books, wondering which one he might want to try out this time.
"Oh, hello Branson," Lady Edith said, entering the library, surprised by his presence.
"Good afternoon, My Lady," Branson answered looking at her with a friendly smile. She may have been surprised to see him, but he was equally surprised to see her. Mostly because this was the first time in more than six months that she had not been dressed head to toe in black.
"I-is there something I might help you with? Or perhaps Carson?" Lady Edith inquired, stammering with her discomfort.
Good, Branson thought to himself, let her be uncomfortable. He was a man like any other. He was a chauffeur and served her family, but he was a man with a brain and as much value in this world as anyone with a title. He said, "I was looking for a book to borrow. Lord Grantham allows the staff to borrow books so long as we mark it down in the ledger." He did not say that Mr. Carson had insisted that any borrowing of books only be done when the family was engaged elsewhere and the staff were specifically prohibited from being in the library when the family was unless on duty serving them. But Mr. Carson was not here just now, and Branson wanted to borrow a book. He'd not be chased out of any room by anyone.
"Oh yes, of course, you're welcome to anything," Lady Edith clarified, "I only thought I might offer to help you find something, if you were looking for suggestions."
Oh she was indeed uncomfortable in his presence, being forced to recognize him as a person with interests that might match her own. Actually, Branson knew his interests far exceeded those of Lady Edith.
Of the whole Crawley family, Branson got the sense that she was the most empty-headed of the lot. Lady Mary was very shrewd and intelligent. Lord Grantham had more of an open mind than most of his kind, though certainly only to a point. Lady Grantham had an American upbringing and education, so she was more apt than anyone to see servants as people. And of course Lady Sybil far outstripped them all with her keen mind. Lady Edith, as far as Branson had seen, did not possess any of the admirable traits of the rest of her family. To Branson's mind, she had a selfish attitude and insisted on self-pity at every turn.
"Thank you, My Lady, but I think I know what I'm looking for. There's a book on socialist reform that I was looking to consult," Branson said.
"Oh?" She was confused by his words.
"I've read it before, of course, but now with the war, I remembered some writings that I wanted to look at again in light of current events," he explained. Branson turned back to the bookshelf and skimmed the book spines. "Ah, here it is." He pulled out the volume he wanted and held it up.
"That all sounds very interesting. Enjoy it," Lady Edith said politely.
"Thank you very much, My Lady. And may I also say that it's nice to see you in color again."
She gave a tight smile. "It's been more than six months. I've been told that's more than enough time to mourn a fiancé and I ought to pull myself together."
Branson frowned. "I am sorry that's what you were told. I don't think there's any time limit for mourning."
Lady Edith gave a small nod. "Thank you, Branson."
With that, Branson gave her a nod in return and slipped passed her to go back out to the cars so he could read for a while until he was needed.