Well, I was going to make it a New Year's resolution to finally write some Downton Abbey fic, but I seem to have beaten myself to it. Happy New Year to everyone! I hope y'all enjoy my first Cobert fic. Here's hoping there will be more to come in 2022.
1891
Robert knocked gently before entering Cora's room. She'd told him many times that he needn't bother knocking, but it still felt rather rude to just barge in on her in the only space in the house that she could truly call her own.
When he opened the door, he found her in bed with the lamp on, reading. "Oh, you're busy," he said, beginning his retreat. "I don't mean to disturb you."
"Please, you could never disturb me." She was already putting her book down, and her eyes were so earnest, and so Robert just nodded and shut the door behind him. God, she was always so happy to see him. It was sweet, of course, but it made him nervous, too. After all, what did he have to offer her, just by walking into a room? One day, he would fall short of her expectations, he was sure. He didn't know what he would do when that day came.
"What, uh, what were you reading?" he asked, gesturing to the book.
She held up the cover for him to see. "Little Women," she answered, before placing her bookmark on the page and setting the book on the end table.
"Of course. Your favorite."
Her mouth dropped open in that beautiful smile of hers. "Now, how did you know that?"
He shifted uncomfortably under her surprised gaze. "I think you may have mentioned it the first time I showed you the library."
"But Robert, that must have been over a year ago!"
"Well, somehow it stuck," he said with a shrug. He had reached her bedside now and was hovering rather awkwardly near it. "Might I-"
"Please, sit," she replied readily, moving to make room for him.
"Do you read it often?" he asked, gesturing again to the book.
"Oh, at least once a year, usually. This is the second time I've picked it up since we were married." She looked down at the cover, running a finger over its peeling edge; it was clear to Robert that this book was well-loved. "I suppose it reminds me of home."
He frowned at that, shifting closer to her. "Have you been homesick, Cora?"
She looked up at him with a lopsided smile that tugged at his heart strings. "Maybe a bit," she admitted. "But that's nothing to trouble you with." Her smile seemed to find its full strength then, and she raised a hand to his cheek, lightly caressing him there. "And that's not why you came in here, is it?"
He leaned into the warmth of her touch, but worried at her words, even as she pulled him down for a kiss. Still, it was nice to kiss her, and he savored the feeling of her lips against his for a moment before he turned his head, letting her kiss meet his cheek instead. "Cora," he murmured, his words brushing over her ear, "you know this isn't the only reason I come in here?"
"Of course I do," she said hastily, but then she leaned back, meeting his gaze with her own, eyes wide with worry. Then, "isn't it?" she asked, so softly he wouldn't have heard it if they'd been separated by more than the mere inches between them.
"I assure you, it is not," he insisted. He reached out and brushed back a loose tendril of hair. "Cora, darling, you know I don't…feel for you the way that you do for me," he began, lamenting internally at the way her face dropped all hint of mirth.
"Yes, I do."
"But I do care for you," he was quick to add. "I want to hear what you're up to, the books you're reading, whether or not you're missing home. Just as much as I want to…you know."
She chuckled lightly at that. "Yes, Robert, I do know."
He let out a silent, grateful sigh that he hadn't ruined everything with his careful words. The tension which had gathered in the air between them seemed to dissipate.
"I do know," she repeated, and kissed him again.
1924
When Robert reached their bedroom—Cora's bedroom, at least as things currently stood—he found the door open and walked right in. Baxter was still in there, though, laying down Cora's breakfast tray, and he stopped just short of the door when he saw her there. "I don't want to disturb you."
"Don't be silly, you couldn't disturb me," she said, her face warm and bright and quite the opposite of what he expected from her right now.
He watched as she dismissed her maid, and waited until Baxter was gone before he spoke again. "I wouldn't have bothered you, but-"
She cut him off with a scoff. "I wish you'd stop talking like that and move back in."
Robert continued, undeterred. "I only came to tell you Edith's about to receive some very bad news."
"What?" Her expression shifted to one of concern. "How do you know?"
"Her editor's on his way to see her this afternoon," he answered. "I'm afraid it's what we've been waiting for."
"However much you expect it, it's still painful when it arrives."
He had nothing to say to that, and so he just nodded and left. The doleful look she gave him as he did so seemed to follow him out the door, but he tried to put it out of his mind. He wondered for a moment if he was being rather silly about all of this—but then he remembered the moment he'd walked in on her with Bricker, barely a foot away from their marital bed, and all the rage of that night came swirling back into him. He wasn't ready to forgive her just yet.
Still, there was something niggling at him as he made his way back down the staircase. Some sort of deja vu that lingered in the back of his mind as he thought over their short conversation. Never mind that, he thought as he reached the bottom step. It was probably nothing.
It was about midday when Robert decided to go into the library to look over the drawings for the new building project. When he walked in, he was surprised to find Cora there on the sofa, reading. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her with a book in her lap. Her presence in the library, and the reminder of his anger with her, put rather a damper on the alone time he'd hoped for, but he couldn't leave now. To enter the room with purpose, only to turn tail when he saw his own wife sitting in there, would be quite childish. So he resolved instead to head straight for his desk.
"Hello, Robert," she said when she saw him, her face brightening.
"Cora," he greeted politely, but not warmly. Her expression dimmed, though it never lost its light completely; she was too beautiful. Even through his anger she was, always, beautiful. But he put those thoughts out of his mind as he sat at his desk and began looking through the prints.
He worked in silence for a few long moments before Cora spoke up again. "How is everything going with the building projects?" she asked.
"It's going well," he replied simply.
"Have you got the drawings you talked about at luncheon?"
"Yes, they're here. I was going to wait and show them to Mary and Tom when they're both here."
"Alright."
Another long silence took over, only interrupted when the door opened and Mary walked in.
"Mama, Papa," she greeted, "I didn't expect to find you both in here."
"Your father is looking over the ideas sent over from the building company. And I was just reading."
"Oh? What book?" Mary came over behind the sofa, leaning over to see. "Not Little Women again. How many times have you read it?"
Robert spared a glance over his shoulder to see if Cora would be annoyed by that, but she only laughed. "Oh, about a hundred," she replied. "I read it all the time when I was a girl, but now I don't think I've touched it in years."
"So, what made you pick it up again?"
"I don't know," Cora admitted, shaking her head softly as her expression took on a far away look. "I suppose we're returning to old habits."
That didn't seem to satisfy the curiosity of Mary, who frowned in confusion. "Who's we?"
Cora looked up at her, then, seeming to come back from wherever her mind had just been. "I…don't know. To be honest, I don't know why I said that," she said, putting it off with a chuckle, and that was that.
Their conversation turned to other things, after that, with Cora asking Mary about her latest jaunt up to London and plans for the point-to-point on Saturday. That old, worn copy of Little Women, abandoned in Cora's lap, was not a thought in either woman's head, but Robert's eyes lingered on it for a moment. He couldn't quite put his finger on why.
1891
It was a slow journey from sleep to consciousness, and Robert undertook it most reluctantly. He was just so warm in his bed, and so comfortable. The covers felt as soft as a cloud against his bare chest, and he could feel Cora's breath on his neck as she lay there in his arms—
Cora? In his…Robert forced his eyes open as he realized the obvious, that they must have fallen asleep together. It was most improper, he knew, and perhaps a few months ago he would have been appalled. But when he opened his eyes and saw her sleeping face there, he found he didn't mind at all, not really. She was so beautiful, and so at peace, and no one needed to know that they had spent a night together in the same room.
Absently, he let a hand travel up her back, passing over the silky-soft material of her nightgown until he could sink his fingers into her hair. It had gotten looser over the course of their night together, he knew, remembering with fondness the way his hands had tangled in it while she'd kissed him breathless. It was still beautiful, though, and soft, and he loved the feel of it on his skin.
He watched as she began to stir, perhaps due to his movements or perhaps just the early morning light beginning to pour in. Her eyes fluttered open, and then widened when she saw him. It occurred to him that this was the first time she had ever woken up to his face in front of hers. He wondered if it would be a welcome sight.
"Robert," she whispered, eyes full of wonder. "You stayed."
"I did," he replied. "I didn't plan to, but I must have fallen asleep. Does that bother you?"
"Of course not," she said quickly, shaking her head. "Only…you're not upset?"
He felt a smile growing on his face and didn't stop it, nor did he stop his arms tightening around her. "No, I find that I'm not upset at all. Good morning, Cora."
"Good morning, Robert," she answered, and kissed him. "I love you."
He stiffened just slightly, as he always seemed to when she uttered those words. "Cora, I…"
"Hush, Robert," she said gently, kissing him again for good measure. "You don't have to say it back. I won't beg for what you can't give me. But I should be allowed to say how I feel, shouldn't I?"
Robert let out a sigh, releasing the nerves that often accompanied such declarations. "Of course you should. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I love you, and I'm not sorry for that. And you care about me, as you said last night, and you needn't be sorry for that either."
God, she was a marvelous woman. He didn't know what to say to that, and so he said nothing at all. Instead he rolled her beneath him and covered her face with his kisses.
1924
"Will that be all, my lord?" Bates asked, after helping Robert dress for the night.
"Yes, thank you." Bates just nodded and left the room as Robert began to settle into bed, grateful for the valet's silence on the matter of his current sleeping arrangements. Surely the man had noticed, and decided it was none of his business. Quite right, too.
Robert was just reaching to turn the lamp off when the door opened and Cora appeared, also dressed for bed. "I thought you might like to join me," she said softly.
"No, I don't think so," he answered.
"Alright. I won't beg."
"Thank you for that," he said, but his voice lacked any true gratitude.
"I mean it." Her voice was even and calm. "This is your decision, to stay in here night after night, and you're certainly allowed. But I am allowed to say how I feel, and I feel that this is silly and petty and you're acting quite childish."
"I'll act how I like," he answered, growing quite annoyed with her attempt to reclaim the moral high ground after what she had done.
"Yes, you will. Good night, Robert. I love you."
With that, she left, and Robert was alone again, left to consider the weight of her words. It wasn't the first time she'd done this; each night since that ghastly Bricker's departure, he had chosen to sleep in this room, and each night she had come to invite him back to bed. He had always refused, and she had always accepted his refusal with poise, said good night, and gone to bed.
Tonight, though, he found himself once again plagued with the strange feeling that had come and gone that morning, and again in the afternoon in the library. Something about the words she'd said, or the way she was acting, felt rather familiar, and he didn't know why. She didn't normally act like this when they quarreled. Usually when they disagreed she was aloof, and standoffish, and proud. But now she was almost the opposite. Since Bricker had left, she had made every attempt to be loving, and attentive, and unassuming. He couldn't wrap his brain around it.
Perhaps, he thought, it was because she had no leg to stand on here. She had, after all, been the one to flirt with Bricker, and dine with him, and invite him into their home again and again, even if she hadn't invited him into her bed. Surely she couldn't find it in herself to be proud, not when this whole thing was her fault in the first place. That had to be the explanation for her behavior. Robert was sure of it.
1891
In the ten months since they had been married, Robert had always felt a bit awkward about joining Cora in her room, but he couldn't recall ever having been more nervous than he was right now in this moment. He had set out to do something, though, and he did not like to think of himself as a cowardly man, so he pressed on, turning the knob on the door between their rooms and pushing it open. It took until the moment after he did so to realize that he hadn't knocked this time.
Cora was already lying down when he opened the door, but she sat up when she saw him. "Robert," she said sweetly. "Darling, I'm sorry, but I'm rather worn out. Last night was wonderful—as was this morning," she added, blushing, "but I'm afraid it's left me rather tired."
"No, no, don't worry," he said, waving a hand about to dismiss her concern. "I didn't come for…that."
She frowned. "No?"
"Um, no. May I?" He gestured to the bed again, and at her responding nod he sat gingerly on the edge of it.
"You see," he began carefully, "this morning was wonderful, as you've said. But not just what we—did."
She smiled endearingly, resting a hand atop his where it lay on the duvet, and it helped him find the words to finish what he meant to say.
"The thing is, Cora, I quite enjoyed waking up with you in my arms. I wondered if I might get the chance to do it again."
A soft gasp left her. Her hand tightened its hold on his. "You mean you don't want to…"
"Make love," he finished for her, finally finding the words. "No, I don't. Well, not tonight. I mean, not necessarily— that is…" he swallowed thickly. "I wonder if I could spend the night with you, whether or not we do anything but sleep."
"Oh, Robert," she said, and he was shocked to find her eyes welling up with tears. "I should like that very much."
At that, she moved over to make room for him, and he pulled up the covers so that he could slide underneath them. He wondered, for a moment, how exactly they were to arrange themselves in the bed together.
He didn't have to wonder for long. No sooner were they situated under the sheets than Cora surged forward, pressing her face into his chest and slinging her arm over his hip. Robert froze for a moment, not quite having expected this, but then, doing what felt natural, he wrapped his own arms around her and settled deeper into the mattress.
"Is this alright?" she asked him, voice muffled against his nightshirt.
Robert looked down at what he could see of their present arrangement—the back of her head, the neat length of her braided hair, the lump in the duvet created by their intertwined legs. He wasn't sure they would sleep like this every night, assuming she did allow him into her bed like this again. Perhaps in the long run they might find themselves sleeping side by side, letting one another's presence be enough to get them through the night. But right now, he found he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep with Cora in his arms.
"Yes," he whispered. "This is perfect."
Her only response was a happy sigh, which he felt more than heard. He let the sound soothe him, savored the weight and the warmth of her body against his, and felt himself begin to lose consciousness.
His last thought before sleep took him was so distant he was hardly aware of it, but it was there all the same. I love her, he thought, and drifted off to sleep.
When Robert woke once again in bed with his wife, he did not open his eyes to see where he was. He knew where he was, and he had chosen to be there, in the arms of his darling Cora. Secure in this knowledge, he let wakefulness overtake him gradually, seeping into his mind as he slowly left his dreams for an even nicer reality. As he did, he began to remember what had occurred to him just before he'd fallen asleep the night before. Strangely enough, he found that he was not shocked. Falling in love with Cora had been a gradual thing, much like waking up beside her, so that by the time the thing was done he'd already accepted it. So he did not startle; he did not shoot up off the pillow, or rush to wake her. Instead, he pulled her closer, held her tighter, and begged this blissful rest to claim him for a few more moments.
Some indefinite amount of time passed before he heard her voice coaxing him to wake up. "Robert," she said, her voice a singsong lilt he thought he'd never tire of hearing. "Robert, darling, I'll have to ring for my maid soon. Do you want her to find you in my bed?" She giggled at the notion, and he let the sound rouse him fully, opening his eyes to find her gazing down at him.
"I have to tell you something," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. "Before you ring for her, there's something I've got to tell you."
"Oh? And what is this urgent message, pray tell?" Her voice was laced with mischief as she peered down at him, eyes twinkling.
"Just this." He reached up and stroked his hand over her cheek, needing to feel her before he said the words. "I love you."
The playful smile dropped off her face. "You what?" She scrambled to a seated position, and he followed suit, shifting to face her properly.
"I love you, Cora. More than anything in the world. I have fallen deeply in love with you, my darling wife. I suppose it took falling asleep in your arms for me to realize.
"Oh, Robert." The look of shock was replaced by one of joy and wonder, and he found he didn't mind the tears that pooled in her eyes. Not when she was looking at him like that, and reaching out her hand to wrap around his neck and pull him in for a kiss.
She kissed him with more passion than he thought she ever had before, only stopping so that she could throw her arms around his neck, hiding her face in his shirt. "This is the most wonderful thing," she said, her tears seeping into the fabric, "the most wonderful thing that anyone has ever said to me."
"I mean it," he said, wrapping his arms tightly around her and infusing the embrace with all the love he could muster.
"I know you do," she replied, her voice a whisper against his skin. "And I love you so much."
"I love you too," he answered, for the first time ever, but not the last. No, not anywhere near it.
1924
When Robert woke, he thought for a moment that Cora was in his arms, and cursed himself when he realized he'd only been dreaming. Of course she wasn't here. She was in her own bed, where he could be, too, if he'd only get off of his high horse and join her there.
"Oh, what am I doing?" he muttered to himself, rubbing a hand over his face and blinking his eyes open. He should have gone to her last night when she asked him to. A part of him had wanted to, but the much louder part of him refused to admit defeat.
And was that what this was about? Defeat. Robert had been defeated, by himself as much as by Simon Bricker. He had ignored his wife, insulted her intelligence, and all but accused her of trying to have an affair. She should be the one furious with him and yet she doted on him, as much as she was able to in spite of his distance. Again and again, he wondered how she could carry on like that; again and again, he convinced himself to let her.
He thought back to that moment in the library, when Mary had asked her about Little Women.
I suppose we're returning to old habits, she'd said. She had tried to brush it off, but it struck him as a very strange thing to say with no meaning behind it. He supposed Little Women was an old habit of hers. He couldn't remember seeing her with it in over a decade, but it had cropped up many times in the early days of their marriage. Of course, its most memorable appearance had been less than a year after their wedding, when he had found her reading it in bed. He smiled fondly as he remembered their first night in bed together.
Then, quite suddenly, he sat straight up. Old habits. It hit him like a ton of bricks. Of course her behavior had seemed familiar over the past few days. The way she doted on him, and yet walked on eggshells, the careful placement of her words, even the book she read when she was in need of comfort—all of it was an eerie match for the Cora he'd known in the first several months of their marriage. Before they had shared a bed.
Before he had loved her.
Oh, God, was that what she thought they had returned to? Her, the careful, loving wife, and him the cold and unfeeling husband? Surely not.
But then, why shouldn't she think that? It occurred to him that his admission of love had come a mere two days after they had first fallen asleep together; of course the two were attached, in her mind. And here he was, neglecting her once again, letting her tell him she loved him each night with no reply before she went to her own bed, and all the while he refused to join her there.
God, what had he done? He had to fix this, he realized, throwing the covers off and getting out of bed. He wouldn't ring for Bates, not yet. He didn't think he could take one more breath before going into Cora's room and begging her forgiveness.
Cora woke early that morning, but she didn't ring for Baxter yet. She wanted a moment to herself before she had to face the day. She was getting rather used to them—moments to herself. For six nights now, she'd gone to sleep without Robert by her side, and for six mornings she'd woken up alone. She wondered, was this her new normal? Or would Robert ever forgive her?
In a horrible, familiar way, it reminded her of the early days of their marriage. The days when she meant very little to him, nothing but the money which had saved his estate and the arms that held him for a few nights each week. And now she wasn't granted even that.
It hadn't seemed so tragic, then. She had loved him, and he hadn't loved her, and she had accepted that before they ever walked down the aisle. Perhaps it was easier to live without his love when she'd never known the taste of it.
Her morose thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Of course, any knock on the door joining her room with Robert's could only be coming from him, even if hadn't felt the need to knock in thirty years. Old habits, she thought to herself, plastering a warm smile on her face as she called out for him to come in.
He opened the door and entered, looking rather stricken. "Cora, I came to apologize."
Well. That hadn't been what she'd expected. "Did you?" she asked him, not knowing what else to say.
"Yes." Shutting the door, Robert moved toward her until he could sit on the edge of the bed, seeming to hesitate for just a moment before he did so. "Cora, I've been awful to you. I reacted badly to the whole Bricker business, and in its wake, I haven't shown you one tenth the kindness that you've shown me." As he spoke, he took one of her hands in both of his. She wondered if he would notice the way it trembled. "I've been a fool," he said. "A damned fool, and I am so sorry. Do you think you can ever forgive me?"
She sighed, feeling her heart positively melt in the wake of all the words she'd wanted to hear. "Of course," she said softly, tightening her grip on the hand that held hers. "Of course I forgive you."
If his grand speech hadn't been convincing enough, the look of relieved bliss that overcame him when he heard her words certainly was."My worst fear," he went on, "is that I might have somehow convinced you that I…" he cut himself off, looking away as if the shame of these words was too much for him. "That I didn't love you," he finished, eyes fixed on the bedspread. "Or, perhaps, that I loved you less."
"Perhaps," she whispered, ever so softly.
The word, and everything it meant, forced his gaze to return to hers. "Oh, my darling, nothing could be further from the truth. I love you more than anything in the world, and that won't ever change."
"And I love you," she replied, a genuine smile forming where for days she'd been painting them on. "Now, kiss me."
"Well, who could say no to that?" he asked softly as he began to lean in. When he was close enough, he pressed his lips firmly against hers. She sighed blissfully into his mouth and pulled him closer, leaning back until she was pressed against the pillows, with him practically on top of her.
They had a bit of time before either Bates or Baxter would expect to be called, and neither one would wonder much if Lord and Lady Grantham were to get dressed a bit later than usual. As Cora and Robert lost themselves in each other once again, she felt an overwhelming need to make up for lost time. It had been far too long, but it felt right to have him in her bed again, to have his lips on hers, to feel his hands begin to wander.
Old habits, that was the phrase she'd used for the painful past few days, and she'd heard that old habits die hard. But this was an old habit, too. A very old habit indeed.