It was the merging of her dream with reality that had woken her. Her cries and shouts blended with those coming from the next room until she suddenly became aware of her true surroundings. Bolting upright, her heart pounded madly in her chest. Sweat coated her skin, causing her nightgown to cling to her. Still somewhat disoriented, she climbed out of bed, grabbed her dressing gown as she passed by, and made her way through the dividing door.
On the other side, she found her husband twisting back and forth, distress written all over his face. Grasping his upper arms, she called his name and gently shook him. It took him a moment, but he eventually settled and she released her grip. She stepped across the floor to the chair by the fireplace and sat down, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her head atop them. Relief filled her when she realized that he wasn't aware of her presence. He hadn't woken when she tried to rouse him from his nightmare and it suited her just fine. The paradox of not being able to stand his presence during the day, but drawing much needed comfort from him while he slept was not one she liked to ponder. Because, despite her current vigil over his slumber, Cora was still and most definitely angry at Robert. His stubbornness and inability to see his own elitism had cost them dearly.
Her throat constricted and her eyes began to burn as a wave of tears bubbled to the surface. Her beautiful baby. Instead of lying in a warm bed down the hall basking in the glow of new motherhood, she was lying in a cold grave in the churchyard. Cora hadn't been able to bear the thought of putting her baby in the ground and had insisted on a raised one, not caring that it wasn't traditionally how a Crawley member was laid to rest. Laid to rest… How those words haunted her, spinning round and round in her mind. Streams of liquid descended down her cheeks as she took in a shuddering breath, hoping to quell the sobs that were beginning to over take her. She was adrift, drowning in a sea of misery with nothing to reach out and grab. Robert was there, she knew. She could cling to him and between the two of them, they would be able to keep each other afloat. But doing so would force her to let go of her anger, the only thing in her grasp that kept her from succumbing to the raging sea of despair, anguish, and grief.
A single sob managed to push its way past her lips as she furiously wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Even though it felt like there were not enough tears to accurately express the effect of her daughter's death, she had cried enough tears. It had been several weeks since Sybil died.
Drawing in a long breath, she forced her lungs to fill with air as she swallowed the suffocating lump in her throat. It wouldn't do for Robert to wake and find her crying. He would try to comfort her and, in her weakened state, she knew she would let him. But she couldn't let him because of her anger. And she was angry, she reminded herself, so terribly terribly angry. If Robert had listened to her instead of that quack doctor, Sybil would still be alive. She must absolutely hold onto her rage. Anger was easy. It was controllable. It enabled her to get out of bed and face each day. Without it, the infernal desolation, heartache, and sorrow would smother her. But, oh how she hated herself for it. Each time she would glance at Robert and see the pain permanently etched across his face, see the way his shoulders slumped under the incredible weight of guilt he now carried, a new feeling would well within her. Remorse. She was hurting him, not only hurting him, but purposefully wounding him. Her darling husband, who's depth of sensitivity not even she knew, cared so deeply for those he thought were in his charge. Would he not have gone to any length to save their daughter?
The soft sound of Robert's rhythmic breathing broke through her introspections and she allowed the soothing sound to lull her and calm the raging storm within her. This was why she stayed when Robert had a nightmare. These few hours with him in his dressing room was the only place she had been able to find a few moments of peace. In spite of her rage, Cora longed for her husband. She was desperate for his comforting embrace and soothing kisses, ached to feel his strong arms wrapped around her, holding her as she slept. If only she could forgive him…
It was several hours later when faint rays of sunlight began to seep through the tiny gaps in the curtains, signaling it was time for her to leave. She hoped to be able to catch a few hours of sleep before O'Brian arrived with her tea tray. But, much like the rest of her hopes lately, she knew she hoped in vain. Rising from her seat, Cora attempted to stretch some of the stiffness she had acquired from being perched in one position. Silently, she padded across the room, the floor boards cold on her bare feet. She placed her hand on the knob and pulled open the dividing door before glancing over at her sleeping husband. His hair was tousled and his blankets tucked up around him. He always looked like an innocent little boy and not like the earl and grandfather that he now was. But the dark circles underneath his eyes and the new lines in his forehead exposed how much strain he was under and Cora knew she was the only one who could ease the burden. A single tear managed to slip down her cheek. Forgiveness would have to wait another day. She just wasn't ready.
"I love you, Robert," she said quietly, before crossing the threshold and silently closing the door behind her.