Besotted
Upon reflection, it was strange it took this long to happen. They'd been married for almost three years, after all. But Robert realized that tonight was the first time that Cora had ever been inebriated.
It was hard to know why tonight was the night it happened. Everything seemed so ordinary to Robert. The day began with Robert waking in Cora's bed beside her and kissing her. He went to his dressing room and she had her breakfast in bed. They then met for a walk around the grounds with his dog, and then Robert attended to estate business with Papa while Cora took the carriage into Thirsk for one of her charity things. They all had luncheon together, after which Mama and Cora attended to plans for the upcoming garden party and everyone met in the library for tea. Nanny brought little Mary in to see everyone, and Cora fawned over their daughter as she did each day. Mama and Papa then had things to do elsewhere so Robert worked on some correspondence and Cora did her needlepoint until the dressing gong.
Dinner, too, had been just as ordinary. Perhaps Mama did go on a bit about how Cora's choices for the flowers were unsuitable, but Cora took those criticisms in stride as she always did. She was polite and contrite and said the right things to appease Mama.
Robert knew how it annoyed her, though. She worked so hard to do things in the proper way, to follow Mama's teachings and to learn what she would need to become the next Countess of Grantham. Robert thought she did a splendid job with everything. But she was never quite what Mama wanted. She was always a bit too much of herself. It used to bother him, that Cora was so American and so unable to conform to the Englishness that he had been so used to all his life. Now, though, he had come to learn of Cora's magnificence of her own. He would never want her to be like any other stuffy English lady. He loved her just as she was.
And because he loved her so, he paid attention—or tried to—to what she did. Tonight at dinner, something was off. Cora always had wine with dinner, as they all did. She sometimes had some port or brandy after dinner when they went through. He had never, ever seen her call Carson to the table to refill her glass. And he did so. Multiple times.
As Robert watched her sip on what must have been her fifth glass of wine, Cora's face started to flush. Anyone's would after that much wine, surely. Her eyes, usually so bright and alert, were starting to glaze. But she had such a lovely smile on her lovely face. She was not bothered in the least, as far as he could tell. Still, it was unusual to see her this way, and Robert was wary.
When dessert was finished—and Cora already had another two glasses of port—Mama announced for the ladies to go through. Robert waited until they left before he told Papa that he was concerned for Cora's behavior and asked to go in and check on her.
Of course, Papa scoffed at such a thing. He and Mama both were very unconcerned about Cora's feelings for the most part. Mama was more outwardly critical, but Papa was quieter in his disdain. He was more apt to be kind to Cora but suddenly become cold if she did something of which he did not approve. He, unlike Mama, however, never begrudged Robert his choice in wife. And for that reason, while Papa found it silly that Robert should feel the need to look after his American wife with her fragile disposition, Papa did not hesitate to allow Robert to tend to her.
Robert entered the drawing room just as Cora stumbled over her dress and fell onto the settee. He rushed to her side, but she was unharmed. In fact, she was giggling.
"Oh Robert, hello!" she exclaimed loudly upon seeing her.
He had to suppress a chuckle. "Hello. Are you alright?"
"Darling, I'm wonderful," Cora answered. Her face was even pinker than before. She swayed where she sat.
Robert looked to Mama, unsure what to do. She scowled. "Take her upstairs. She's lucky we don't have guests this evening."
"I like when we have guests," Cora interjected, her voice still louder than it should have been. "Everyone's always so nice to me when we have guests. I think it's because I'm pretty. Don't you think so, Robert?"
He wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. "I think you're very pretty," he answered simply.
Cora's face melted into an adoring expression. She sighed happily. "Oh I'm so glad. I want to be pretty for you, Robert. You deserve a pretty wife. I want to be your pretty wife."
"You are my pretty wife," he assured her. "And I think we ought to go upstairs."
"Yes please," she agreed enthusiastically.
Cora pushed herself up but didn't quite catch her balance, so she fell right back down onto the settee. Robert took her by the arm and helped her up, keeping her steady.
"Mama, Robert is going to take me upstairs because I'm his pretty wife!" Cora announced proudly.
Robert felt his face grow hot with embarrassment. He didn't dare look at Mama. He just kept his head down and led Cora out of the room as quickly as possible.
"Cora, what's got into you?" he muttered as they ascended the stairs.
"What do you mean?"
He sighed in frustration. "Cora, you're drunk," he told her bluntly.
"Oh. Am I? I suppose I am. I…hmm…" she trailed off.
"You don't usually have so much wine," Robert noted.
"No. I've never had this much wine, I don't think. I do feel rather marvelous. Like everything is shining and spinning, and my heart feels light."
They had gotten to the landing, but Cora suddenly stopped walking in the middle of the corridor. She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing against him and catching him off guard so he stumbled back into the wall.
"Robert, I do love you so," she said. And then, without any further warning, her lips crashed into his.
For his part, Robert had no idea what was going on. He somehow ended up wrapping her lithe body in his arms and kissing her back. Her kisses were hot and wet and hungry and utterly glorious. Robert indulged in kissing her for longer than he perhaps should have in her state. He couldn't bring himself to stop.
But Cora eventually pulled away to catch her breath, and Robert remembered himself. They were out in the open where anyone could walk by. It was hardly appropriate. And if any of the servants saw them, he wouldn't be able to live it down. He would have to be as inebriated as Cora if he were to be unconcerned about being caught by one of the staff.
"Come along, Cora," he insisted. His voice was hoarse. Arousal swirled inside him. But he swallowed back his desire for the propriety of taking care of his wife before she did anything more unwise.
She was still a bit unsteady on her feet as he finally managed to get her to her bedroom and helped her sit on the chaise by the fire.
"There we are," he said in satisfaction. "I'll ring for the maid."
"No, don't," Cora protested.
He paused halfway across the room. "Why not?"
She reached her arms out towards him. "Come back here, please," she requested. "Let me hold you and kiss you."
Robert allowed himself to chuckle at that. "Cora, you're not yourself," he reminded her. After all, people had been known to do foolish things under the influence of alcohol. He did not want Cora to wake up tomorrow regretting her behavior.
But he did return to her as she requested. He sat beside her and held her hand, and she looked at him, brow furrowed. "Why do you say I'm not myself?" Her words were starting to slur a bit.
"You've had a lot to drink."
A little crease of frustration appeared on her forehead. "I know I have. But that doesn't mean I'm not myself. I want you to make love to me. Is that so unlike me?"
Robert's eyes blew wide in surprise. "You what?" he choked out.
And then something that was incredibly like Cora happened. Something that led Robert to believe that perhaps she wasn't unlike herself. Perhaps she wasn't as drunk as he feared. Perhaps she knew exactly what she was doing.
Cora stood up and lifted her skirts just enough so she could clamber up on top of Robert, her legs on either side of his hips and her body perched on his lap. She draped her arms around his neck and gazed at him with a look so sultry, he thought he might burst into flames.
"Robert, I love you very much. And I may have had more wine than I should have. And I may be a bit dizzy and I think I'm saying things I ordinarily would keep to myself. But I am very much myself. And I think by now you know how much I love you and desire you. And if I'm saying things I usually wouldn't admit out loud, isn't it nice that I want to tell you how handsome and attractive you are and how much I want you to touch me and make love to me?"
Her hands grasped his cheeks as he sat there, stunned. Her fingers trailed down his neck and over his chest and down to his lap. She brushed against the burgeoning erection in his trousers and then started to work on the button. It was at that point that he caught her wrist in his hand. "Cora!"
But she only giggled, leaning in to kiss him. He could not resist her kiss, now or ever, so he let his grip on her loosen. She returned to her task. He grew hard in her hand, thanks to her seductive efforts.
Robert pulled away from her kiss with a gasp from the way she stroked him. When he opened his eyes, she was watching him with yet another naughty grin.
"Make love to me, Robert," she requested, her voice low and husky with her arousal.
It took a moment to gather his strength, but Robert managed to hold her tight and stand up with Cora in his arms. She clung to him as he carried her to the bed.
Oh she was wearing far too many layers, far too much clothing! And her wicked, wonderful wiles had gotten him far too worked up to do much about it. His hands were already shaking as he reached up her skirts to remove her drawers. He managed to get them off her and toss them aside and kick off his shoes and his trousers before getting on top of the bed and on top of her.
"Cora," he grunted, feeling her wetness against the head of his cock.
"Take me, Robert," she begged, her lips drunkenly dragging across his neck.
He thrust inside her, causing them both to gasp. Her skirts were voluminous but fell back and out of the way when she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in closer.
In their time as man and wife, Robert could hardly recall such a desperate, wild coupling. They had experienced their share of passions before. They had taken on some daring things in their lovemaking. They had enjoyed every manner of sexual delight that he could contemplate. But Cora had never been drunk before. And Robert had never known how wanton she could really be. It was difficult to fathom that his sweet, gentle wife with her delicate American demeanor could transform into this lustful, erotic goddess in his arms. She moaned and moved with such sensuality. There was not one part of her that remained restrained. It was intoxicating, and soon Robert felt he was as drunk on her as she was on the wine.
She cried out and shuddered beneath him as she reached her climax, and Robert was tipped over the edge with the feel of her clenching grip upon him. He spilled inside her with a few last jerking thrusts and practically collapsed on top of her.
They both somehow managed to escape the haze of post-coital bliss enough to undress themselves—and each other—and fall back into bed without ever bothering her maid or his valet. Sleep came upon them both swiftly, thanks to their exertion.
The next morning, Cora was terribly ill. She was in bed all day, sick with a headache and nausea. Robert wasn't surprised. Mama was hardly sympathetic. Especially because Cora was sick for days. And actually, the nausea held on for weeks.
It took another month before they suspected the cause of it was not the wine but instead their second child.