It had been hours since the gilded and shockingly blue steeled train had chugged out of the Paris depot, the stuttering and slow start gaining speed and assurance as it cut deeper through the French countryside*. While their passage a year prior had been quite comfortable, Bertie had ensured the family was cradled in luxury this time around, and had taken it upon himself to book the tickets.

Outside, the English fog was a memory and the sky had turned a vibrant blue, made more stunning in contrast to the verdant trees of the cassia plantations they sped by. The smell of diesel could not mask the growing infusion of citrus and salt on the air, foretelling their seaside destination was getting close.

Sometime after tea, Sybbie had left the huddle of her cousins and came to sit by him, silently watching through the glass to the foreign world beyond. Robert thought how strange it must be for her, the owner of a home she'd never seen, gotten from a man she'd never met, and all before her tenth birthday. Robert looked down at his leg, at the billowing lace of her dress splashed over the linen of his pants. Her knee jiggled up and down. Robert smiled. Sybil had done this. Cora still did; her impatience or excitement given away by her rouge knee.

As if sensing his trail of thoughts, Sybbie took his hand.

"Why isn't Granny here?"

Robert cleared his throat, the sound phlemy and louder than he'd intended. He patted the knuckles of his granddaughter.

"She's resting."

Cora's prediction from a year ago, in the garden under a star speckled sky, that illness would take over their lives, had proven to be partially true. Though she wasn't dying, as he had feared in the moments after her revelation, she was sick, and her recovery had not traveled in a straight line as he had hoped, but more up and down. And while they seemed to be on an up after switching her treatment, the down of only a month ago still left him on edge.

"The sunshine will do her some good. You'll see, Donk."

Despite the pit of worry that he'd sunk into thinking of Cora, Robert chuckled. His young granddaughter's head nodded emphatically as she spoke, assured by belief in her own words and Robert clung to the hope that it would.

The chiming of a clock distracted him and he pulled at the chain attached to his vest. 7pm. Robert squeezed Sybbie's hand before pushing himself out of their seat.

"My dear girl, it's time for you to retire with Nanny. And it is time for me to fetch Granny for dinner."

Placing a gentle kiss on her silken head, Sybbie's gentle goodnight tickling his ears, Robert made his way through the carriage, breaching the threshold to the sleeper cars. His eyes passed over the brass numbers decorating ornate mahogany doors, until he found the one she was behind. Knocking once, Robert turned the knob before she could answer. The room was shadowed, the curtains still drawn, and Robert frowned. The outline of her form could be seen as he padded closer to the bed, her steady exhales undisturbed by his entrance.

Carefully, Robert lowered himself onto the bed and ran a finger over Cora's brow, tracing the line of her cheekbone. She was thinner still, the vitality she'd recovered diminished after the latest set back. He noticed these things now, mentally cataloging and recording every change. He hated to wake her. The journey from Downton had already taken up twelve hours and had included the initial train to Dover and then the ferry to Calais. Exhaustion pulsated through his muscles, he could only imagine how Cora felt.

But he had let her sleep for long enough and she needed to eat.

"Cora," Robert whispered, taking her shoulder tenderly into his cupped hand. He shook it briefly before rubbing the knob of her joint. "Cora," he said again, louder, and she stirred, groaning as she moved her limbs under the duvet.

"It's time to dress for dinner," Robert stated, folding the blankets down before she could snuggle into them again.

Cora's eyes opened slowly and she nodded against the pillow. Without a word, Robert offered his hand and Cora took it immediately, her cool palm sliding against his damp one. Closing his fingers around hers, Robert stood and lightly pulled, Cora following until she sat up in their bed, blinking more rapidly as she awakened. Her smile up at him was genuine, but the line between her eyes stayed creased, deep.

"I'm fine," Cora's words cut off Robert's thoughts and he shook his head. "Just a bit of indigestion. Sometimes it comes after I've laid down for a bit."

He'd asked her to be honest with him after that night in the garden, demanded really. And mostly, she'd done so.

"Would you like me to get you a tonic?" Robert asked.

"Yes," Cora breathed, her shoulders curving forward. "Yes, that would be helpful."

Robert stood a moment longer, watching as Cora managed her pain, feeling foolish and useless. I love you. The words popped into his mind along with the spontaneous gurgling of fear in his gut. He thought it a few hundred times a day, though he couldn't say the words, couldn't give voice to the escalating desperation that would tumble out with them. Instead, he made sure she woke up to eat, he fetched her medicines and read her poetry and stroked her hair. He loved her in a million different ways each day, so that she would know without him having to say it.

I love you had always been Cora's last resort. He didn't want to say it and have her say it back, not while she was still sick, not while there was a chance she'd get worse.

*The Calais-Mediterranee Express was a French luxury night express train that was known as Le Train Bleu because of its dark blue and gold sleeping cars. It contained only first class cars and was frequented by royalty, artists, writers, designers and other celebrities of the 20's and 30's. It ran from Calais on the northern French border down to Nice.