2 July 1900

My darling Cora,

I don't know quite where to start in this letter. To say I am sorry to hear about Patrick's behavior seems inadequate, but of course I am. But more, I am reproaching myself for not being there for your talk with Mary. Perhaps it was for my own benefit that I put off that very delicate conversation, convincing my conscious that she was too young for such heady topics as succession and primogeniture. I never wanted to leave it in your hands, darling. But now that you've had the very unpleasant job of explaining things to her, maybe we should revisit Mama's suggestion about uniting Mary and Patrick. I do not want to upset you, dearest, but I just ask you consider this option.

It seems this entire letter will be filled with unpleasantness and I hate that any of the infrequent correspondents that we have would be about anything less than my affirmations of adoration for you, but Mama has written to me about a situation. You mentioned in your last letter becoming friendly with a Mrs Coolidge and I am so glad that you are meeting people and carrying on in my absence. I cannot appreciate how you must be feeling at Downton. Mama is concerned that you not feel lonely but also worried that this woman is not entirely appropriate. I don't know all of the particulars, and perhaps you should speak to her more about them, but you are kind hearted and sometimes a little too quick to see the best in people and I fear someone taking advantage of that. Just be wary.

If you've gotten this far without burning this letter then know that you occupy my thoughts constantly. I dream of you and find myself referencing something you've said or a cherished memory of the two of us so much that I'm almost embarrassed. Poor Bates has had to listen to my lovesick schoolboy musings on more nights than he cares to, I'm sure. Please be well, and do not worry yourself about me or the financial matters you mentioned. I'm sure it will all keep until I get home, which will hopefully be soon. I trust Jarvis to keep things as they've been, not that I do not trust you! On the contrary, it's only that it's all very confusing at times and there is so much nuance that goes into dealing with the farmers and contracts and exchanges that it will cause you undue stress. Keep a watch on the books and if anything looks very terrible we will address it.

Give the girls hugs and kisses from their dusty papa and I love you, dearest, so very much. It's a ridiculous admission that this Englishman can write that far more liberally than he can say it, and I hope to amend that when I see you again.

Yours,

Robert

Cora sat straighter as the gentle rocking of the carriage heralded her arrival at Rothby House. Once the driver came around, she took his offered arm and stepped carefully down onto the gravel. She took a moment to peer up at the house before her. It was her second visit, and inside and out, Rothby House was as sumptuous and intimidating as Downton, only on a smaller scale. Sometimes, it still caught her off guard that this was her life, coming and going from one grand estate to another, roaming the halls of homes boasting hundreds of years of history.

Antonia Coolidge stood in the massive doorway of Rothby House, her hands folded in front of her as she waited for Cora to enter. Greeting each other cordially, Cora found herself involuntarily scrutinizing her friend's back as she followed her inside. Robert's letter was fresh in her memory. At first she had been angry, at her mother in law for her insinuations and then at Robert for not trusting her judgement. But after internalizing the letter Cora had to admit that there was something about Antonia that wasn't quite right, at least when compared to all the other Englishwomen she had met over the last decade. At first Cora rationalized Antonia's behavior, which, in its tendency towards brashness and over familiarity was reminiscent of her own mother's, as a response to her Americanness. It didn't take long for Cora to find out that her new friend acted bold and vaguely inappropriate around everyone.

The only time Antonia had been subdued, Cora recalled as she pretend to listen to her hostess's latest nugget of gossip, was during the first fundraiser held at Downton. She had brought her old frocks like the other ladies of the county and had demurely ate tea sandwiches, content to smile shyly and stay mostly quiet, as one would expect a newcomer. Cora had been fooled into thinking she was something other than the snorting woman sitting across from her, scandalously joking about the affairs of Lady Merton. She should get up and leave, refuse to hear anymore. Lord Merton was, afterall Mary's godfather. But however crass Antonia Coolidge was, however much Violet may not approve, the fact remained that when Cora was in her company, she could chuckle a little, forget that Robert may never come back, that her three children could be fatherless and virtually penniless. She could take a break from the loneliness of Downton and the stress of the estate's affairs. Antonia expected nothing more from her than an ear to talk into.

"Cora, are you alright?" The nasal intonations of the woman across from her startled Cora from her musings and she shook her head self-consciously.

"Ofcourse! I'm sorry. I haven't been very good company this afternoon." Cora apologized.

"Nonsense!" Antonia said, waving her hand as though batting the words away from them. "You've a great deal to occupy your thoughts. I hope they all appreciate the effort you are exerting. Although, I only had to meet your mother-in-law that once to ascertain that she is not one to notice when one is succeeding. Only when one is failing."

"She's a shrewd woman," Cora replied diplomatically. "But she's fair and if nothing else she loves her grandchildren and would do anything to help them."

"But not her daughter-in-law? The woman who gave her said grandchildren?" Antonia asked, her eyebrows raised.

Cora snorted lightly, "It is complicated. Let us leave it at that."

Antonia held her gaze for a moment before nodding and fixing her eyes briefly on a photograph displayed on the table behind the sofa they sat on. A handsome young man looked back from the black and white image. He was dressed in the uniform of the British Army and his square chin and high cheekbones were a copy of Antonia's features. To Cora's knowledge, her friend had never spoken of any children. Chancing a look to the woman, Cora saw that she was studying her, appraising her. Cora swallowed, suddenly feeling as though she had stumbled upon a great secret meant to be buried.

"Handsome fellow," Cora said shyly, needing to cut the silence that had blanketed the room.

"My housekeeper's boy." Antonia explained carefully. "He worked for us as a handiman too. Practically grew up in our London house, so of course we are all very fond of him. He's fighting in Africa alongside Lord Grantham."

"Ahh," was all Cora could muster. She watched Antonia's eyes trace back along the photograph again, the hard blue irises turning soft for a moment before she looked away.

"Telegram for you, milady." Carson announced as she walked into the house unclipping her hat from her head.

"Thank you Carson," Cora said absently, taking the paper from his hands and walking up the stairs while reading the contents.

Come to London on next train. Mama will stay with the girls. It's all worked out so do not think of backing out. Rosamund.

Cora shook her head, finishing the telegram just as her mother in law entered the house. From the gallery, she could hear Violet's skirts rustling briskly into the house, her clothes sounding almost as annoyed as Cora knew her mother in law must be feeling. Being summoned to Downton for a slumber party with her grandchildren was not high on Violet Crawley's list of engagements fit for a dowager. Immediately, Violet began taking over, directing Carson as to which room should be made up for her and ordering Mrs Hughes be brought up to discuss the menus for the time she would be there. Cora amended her previous thoughts, suspecting that perhaps the dowager was inwardly more pleased than she would ever let on at being in charge at Downton once again, if only for a few nights.

Quietly slinking into her room, Cora pulled the cord for her maid half-heartedly. Rosamund's telegram was mysterious and Cora was not sure she felt up to spending any time in London with her sister and brother in law. She got on with them well enough, but she and Rosamund had never been great confidants, Robert's sister containing too much of Violet's personality for Cora to ever feel truly at ease in her presence. Without the distraction of other family members, Cora didn't think there would be much common ground between them, but it seemed rude to not accept the invitation that had been thrust upon her.

Sighing, Cora resigned herself to a few days of forced politeness and stilted conversation. No doubt Rosamund would invite any number of her snobbish friends, all of whom would pretend to take great interest in her countess sister-in-law, leaving their more derisive observations for when she was no longer in earshot. She would much rather stay at Downton and tend to the affairs under her roof. The state of their finances continued to plague her, contrary to Robert's pacification. The girls always seemed to need something, and she was often called upon to play referee, mother, father and monster-banisher. And then there was Mary, who still barely spoke to her after their talk. Like most of Robert's family, Mary held her responsible for not bringing a boy into the world. Unlike the rest of the Crawleys who hid their disdain over her failure as a wife behind pursed lips and veiled comments, her eldest had come out and said what she thought when pressed, days after she had stormed off.

You should have made me a boy, Mama! It was said with all the anger and contempt her nine year old could muster before she once again stomped off to be alone.

No...Cora felt like going to London not one bit, sure she would be unable to muster up the energy to keep up with Rosamund and whatever it was she held in store for her.

Rosamund's house was eerily quiet when Cora arrived, Jenkins following behind. She had thought it odd that just the coach had met her at the station but for Rosamund's butler to be the only one to greet them once at Painswick House seemed just shy of rude. She supposed Marmaduke would be at the office, but surely Rosamund was expecting her. She did, afterall, telegram ahead to inform her sister-in-law of the time of her train.

Feeling increasingly put out, Cora made her way to the set of rooms she usually occupied when visiting. Jenkins began laying out her clothes from the cases the footman had deposited and Cora slipped her fingers out of her gloves methodically, wishing to turn around and book the next train back to Downton. Finally looking up from her task, a large box which had previously gone unnoticed on the bed caught her attention. Tilting her head, Cora went to it, carefully unfurling the big ribbon encircling the white cardboard.

Fine, rose colored tissue paper concealed whatever laid in the box. Atop the paper was a small, cream envelope with no markings. Smiling to herself, intrigued, Cora turned the square over and loosened the flap, freeing the note inside.

"Oh," she gasped, covering her mouth, the words trembling on the cardstock they were written on. She could feel the pulse in her neck quicken, her blood warming and throbbing uncomfortably under her skin. Her breath hitched, her head suddenly light, her feet leaden. She knew this writing, knew its precise lettering, its tight font, words extending into a ruler-straight line.

Put this on.

Parting the folds of the tissue paper, Cora found the most delicate silk and lace peignoir and negligee. She rolled the fabric between her fingers, dreamlike, before she shook herself and frantically began undoing the buttons of her overcoat.

"Jenkins. Jenkins, help me please!" Cora beckoned her maid, who had just finished unpacking her bags.

Jenkins made quick work of her dress and corset and her face remained unreadable as Cora pointed to the nightdress spilling out of the box. The silken gown kissed her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms. Cora shivered, anticipation gripping her nerves. Once Jenkins left her room, she paced the floor, taking deep breaths. Where was he? Why was he making her wait so incredibly long? She wanted to weep with the need to see her husband. It was only on her third pass across the room that she noticed the bottle of champagne propped in a bucket of ice, two glasses waiting on the side. Cora popped the cork, poured two generous glasses and took a sip, falling back into one of the chairs in the room and closing her eyes. If this was a dream, she never wanted to wake up.

The creaking of the door echoed in the room and Cora's eyes flew open, and suddenly he was there. In his silk pajamas, as though he had come with her on the train for a holiday instead of making the weeks long trek on train and boat from a continent away. For a moment she wasn't sure her legs would hold her but she pushed up anyway, standing, unable to take her eyes off of him. Robert. He was really there. Thinner. Tanner. But hers.

"You are a sight for sore eyes," Robert said, his voice husky as his eyes left hers and traveled down, lighting her body with his adoring gaze.

"Oh Robert!" Cora breathed, a throaty laugh escaping through her happy tears.

They both moved at once, meeting in the middle of the bedroom. Cora gripped Roberts biceps as his arms went to their usual place around her waist. He pulled her tight against him and Cora thought her heart would burst. She thought it would quite literally burst from her chest as it experienced an emotion it hadn't in so many months. Joy, in its most pure, unbridled form. When his lips finally captured her own, she meant to moan, but the moan quickly unleashed everything that she had been concealing, every fear and worry and longing, and that moan became a sob and once that sob was given life it consumed her. She was so very happy, sure in his arms that she had entered heaven, but the happier she felt the harder she cried, all the while Robert pressed his calloused hands to her back, steadying her while drinking her tears.