Violet's words from earlier lingered around Cora's ears.

He still loved her.

Though he hadn't said so, he still loved her. Though they hadn't been alone since that rainy afternoon, Violet seemed to be sure that Robert, in spite of everything, still loved her.

The words were all she could think of, the thought pounding away in her head as the party proceeded. They grew so loud that she found herself glancing up to him throughout cocktails, throughout dinner, throughout the conversations with their guests at their right and left. She found herself thinking more about after dinner than she was about the task at hand. Surely Violet had insisted he appear happy with his wife, or at least civil. But would he? Would he speak with her? Would he smile? Would he pretend, like she, that nothing was amiss, that they were as solid as they had always been? It had been difficult enough just amongst their immediate family, but now they were among so many people, so many happy couples. Would he do as Mama asked?

One more glance up, as Shrimpy talked on and on about India, one more glance up and over at Robert. At his mouth, the wave in his hair, his eyes. She stole one more glance and found, to her surprise, he had glanced up to her as well.

Eye contact. Accidental, but unmistakable, eye contact. The first in what may have been weeks. Candles flickered between them, the purples and dusky pinks of the centerpiece's flowers blurred in her periphery, but the blues of Robert's eyes were clear. And painfully familiar.

Cora heaved some breaths, steadying her nerves, before trying a small, timid, and perhaps even repentant, smile. He saw, stared, and then averted his gaze.

Forks and knives on porcelain, shimmering glasses of deep red claret, the smell of Mrs. Patmore's curried pheasant, and the murmur of company had faded quickly around her, had dulled, and had remained that way even now, as she watched her guests dance around the Great Hall. She spied her daughter, Mary, grinning as Tony spun her around. Rose was there, too, and then she saw Robert. He stood on the far side of the hall talking with Lady Shackleton. She watched him feign laughter, a practiced chuckle she'd seen time and time again, and she frowned. The last time she'd seen it was at the dinner that Simon had attended. He'd feigned laughter then, afterwards whispering to her how he found Mr. Bricker rather forward. And she had rolled her eyes.

Something brought her back to present and she jerked alertly, finding that Robert was looking directly at her. She blinked back, embarrassed, and uncharacteristically bashful. She wanted to look away. But then movement. He began to move toward her, and Cora felt her nerves prick up at the realization.

What had Mama said to him? What had she done to convince him of this, to come stand near her? Cora's heart thumped emphatically against her ribs until, at last, he was by her side. She forced herself to look at him and saw he observed her fingers as they turned a pearl on her necklace. She froze, dropping the necklace, ashamed that the habit was back and on display. When she peered back up at him, she saw a shadow of what appeared to be endearment, a telling softening around his eyes.

"Robert!" Shrimpy's voice interrupted, thick with wine. "You don't mind if I borrow Cora, do you, chap? I haven't danced in ages!"

Robert was silent, and he looked at her for a beat longer before shaking his head.

Cora forced a painfully delighted little smile as the music started again. She forced herself to look happy when in fact she could feel her heart swimming in her stomach. Drunken Shrimpy was grinning like a fool.

"Perhaps the next one."

Cora stilled her movements, her thoughts, her breath, and slowly brought her eyes to his, Robert's, who held his hand out to her.

And suddenly, it was their first year of marriage again. The butterflies and nervous swallow. The tender grasp of his hand. The way he led her to the floor. The weight of his fingers on her waist.

Cora had never heard the song, a new one, but stepped and swayed slowly along with her husband, following his lead.

She wanted to say something, but couldn't form the words. What was there to say that hadn't been shouted, whispered, cried, or said before? So she pressed her lips and let him spin her around in his arms, the simple thought of him holding her this close bringing her to the verge of tears. One small pull nearer and there was another sound, blending with the buzz of the noises around her: the slow jazz, the conversation of their family and friends. Another sound, and it was Robert's voice, a hum, a tune that kindled something in her breast, but what it was, she couldn't quite place. And closer still, the deep hum clearer, his hand warm through her dress, his scent comforting and alluring. What was the tune? The song? It tingled in her brain. He hummed over the jazz that played in the hall as he held her and they rotated dreamily with the music.

And then the song ended. There was soft clapping around them, the melody evaporating from the air, but they ignored it. They continued dancing. Robert held on, unmoved by the demand of propriety. His arm clung to her, his hand firmly in place.

For a moment, Cora was aware of others' eyes upon them, the heat of them uncomfortable, but then, she suddenly didn't care. She allowed her eyes to find his, and she listened to the hum, the steady rhythm, until he had finished. He stilled his movements and stared at her, searching her eyes for something she wasn't sure she knew. Then, like everyone around them, he had let go and clapped. A new song began, Shrimpy came nearer, and, in a blur, Cora was in another man's arms.

Shrimpy smelled like whiskey and cigars, and he talked about something that Cora paid no attention to. The only thing she could think of was the sound of the tune Robert hummed near her ear. It echoed in her mind, her memory trying to place it appropriately. Her heart knew before her thoughts. It conjured flutters in her chest, tugged at the corners of her lips, but what was it from? A waltz, yes. The 1-2-3 count played loudly in her ears. But where had she heard it?

And then, it struck her. Her mouth fell agape, and her heart skipped a beat, warming her entire chest. Not just a waltz. The waltz. The waltz he had first danced with her, thirty-five years ago. Thirty-five years ago when they were both so very young and she was so hopelessly in love with the boy who would one day be Earl. She pushed back the burn of tears. She was still so hopelessly in love.

Her eyes searched the hall for him, for the silhouette she knew by heart, and at last found him. Her husband. Her dear, sweet husband who still loved her. Her throat constricted at the thought. He still loved her.

She took a chance, while dancing with Shrimpy, and smiled again at Robert. Like before, it was timid and hopeful. But, unlike before, Robert returned it with a timid smile of his own.