A/N: Thank you to those of you who have continued to read and leave me reviews to this story, you will be pleased (I hope) to hear that it is all now written, and I will be aiming to update weekly!

Please please please leave your thoughts in the reviews. I love reading them, and they inspire me to write more.

Cobert love to you all.

Chapter 40 – December 1889

He would like to have pretended that the darkness that ebbed into the upstairs sitting room from the horrible weather outside was making his grandmother look frail and elderly. He would have liked it even more if he could blame her clothes for aging her, or perhaps even the décor not suiting her complexion, but he could not. He had seen her since his return from America, but it was clear that the winter weather and her recent cold had taken a toll on her. He had never looked at her before and wondered if she might make it to this time next year, he does now.

She lowers herself with some effort, and heavy leaning on her walking cane into the settee in the upstairs sitting room that his mother had just given to Cora. Cora was already talking about how she was going to have some of the furniture moved about and the silk on the walls changed, but she had not yet got further than ideas. His grandmother coughs softly, and takes her handkerchief from her bag. Robert remains where he is, stood in one of the windows, watching her. Even now, over two months since Mr Levinson had passed, the sound of coughing – however small and normal it might be – made him flinch.

"This better be important. I did not scale all those stairs for a petty conversation about Christmas decorations or something." His grandmother chuckles at her own wit, before she levels her gaze squarely with his. He fidgets his hands behind his back, twisting his fingers together at the base of his spine. What he wanted to ask was important, very important. But he also had no idea how to talk about it, or what to ask to get the answers he needed. He wrings his hands together again.

His inability to come to the point, to ask the question he wants to ask seems even more stupid given how long he had deliberated about speaking to anyone about his predicament anyway. That it was his grandmother he was going to ask had taken him far longer to decide upon than it ought to have done. The only other person that might have been able to help him was his sister, and Rosamund was more likely to laugh at him than be constructive. No, he had been right, his grandmother was the only person he knew with whom he could have serious conversations about love.

"Well Robert, what it is? I haven't seen you looking this perplexed or confused since you were about five and Rosamund explained to you that you could not marry your dog." He has to laugh at her attempt at a joke, but it does not steady his nerves, or allow him to figure out how to broach the subject he wishes to discuss. He scratches the back of his head and paces the room to the other window. Maybe it would be easier if he couldn't see her face.

"How did you know you were in love with Grandpa?" A silence settles over the room between them. He turns back to look at his grandmother, he wasn't used to her being silent – that was something she had in common with his mother. She is looking at her lap, slowly flexing her left hand over her knee and looking at the ring that sits there.

"I don't think there is a moment when I opened my eyes or looked at him and realised I was in love with him. It was more of a general feeling that I knew my life was destined to be with him. That sounds rather cliché." She chuckles softly. "I don't know. I suppose I always just thought there wasn't any other person I could imagine spending my life with. He made me smile, he made me laugh. I wanted to make memories with him."

"But was there a moment when you knew that what you were feeling was love rather than friendship or companionship?"

"I would argue that they are types of love."

"Yes, but you know what I mean…" He trails off, gesturing wildly into the air. He comes to sit on the settee opposite his grandmother. When he looks up she is biting her lip and smiling at him, her head tilted to the side. When she sees him looking she drops the smile, and bites her lip a little harder.

"I think you need to explain to me what you are trying to find out Robert." Her eyes are sparking and he has to refrain from rolling his own. He knew she would jump to the obvious conclusion – that he was in love with Cora. This was partly the reason he had avoided asking Rosamund. She would have become so excited the conversation would never have finished and he never would have had any chance of getting the answers he craved. His grandmother at least, did not have the energy or excitement required for that, but the twinkle in her eyes told him that her thoughts were in the same place.

"How is someone that has never been romantically in love with someone supposed to know that they are in love? That's what I want to know." Their eyes lock. Robert finds himself completely unable to blink. His grandmother's eyes are not as bright as they were even a few months ago. There was something muted about the colour of them, but the intensity and penetration of them is the same. He feels as if she can rifle through every one of his innermost thoughts with that stare. Maybe that was just women though? He sometimes thought Cora could do the same.

"You'll be disappointed to know that I don't think there is one answer to that. We are all different Robert, and therefore the way we fall in love is different."

"There must be some things that are common to almost all romantic relationships though?"

"I suppose so. I think there has to be an element of physical desire." A blush rises instantly to his cheeks, mirrored he notes by a rosy hue on his grandmother's cheeks. She might have stated the fact plainly and without preamble, but she was ladylike enough to assume a blush of embarrassment. "Which I will assume is not a problem." She raises her eyebrows at him now, and he knows his cheeks burn hotter. No, it was not a problem, far from it. Now that he thought about it, he didn't think a night had gone by since they had rekindled that part of their relationship in which they had not been intimate together. He drops his eyes from his grandmothers at that realisation – there were some things it would be better if her penetrating eyes did not work out. "I think when someone loves someone truly and completely you become stronger from it, it sustains you to a certain extent. If Cora makes the bad days better for you, if you think of her first when you want comfort or you need help then you are probably on your way to being in love with her."

"Right." He twiddles his thumbs together again. Was that what he felt about Cora? Would he turn to her when he needed help? Would he seek her out if he needed comfort? She certainly sought him out in those instances – he had seen that. But he wasn't sure he would, he had spent his whole life managing things largely on his own.

"If she went away Robert, if she wasn't here, would you miss her?"

"Of course."

"And would you want to go and find her, would you be desperate to check she is safe or happy or to hear her voice?" He doesn't answer. He tries to place himself in that situation, trying to imagine what his life might feel like if it returned to the state it had been in before he had met Cora, before they had married, and whether he would miss what they had built in the last year. He doesn't have a chance to fully consider his thoughts, as he returns his attention to what his grandmother is continuing to say. "Would your life feel less significant if Cora was no longer a part of it?"

"Undoubtedly."

"And not just because she is your wife, but because you would really truly miss her, for the woman she is and what she means to you?"

"I think so." He wasn't sure, that was such a hard thing to comprehend. Would he miss Cora simply because she was his wife and filled the role as his partner and his friend? Or would he miss her just because? "Cora is…she is more than I deserve." He falls back to the facts that he had now known for some time were true.

"No. She's exactly what you do deserve if you love her."

"But, I just…I'm not sure that I do. My thoughts and feelings are so confusing. I worry about her like I might worry about a young child sometimes. She's so young and so…I don't know, this is all so new to her. But then I admire her strength, she is a thousand times stronger than I am granny. You should have seen her in America. She coped with it all so well."

"I don't doubt it. She's a fine young lady."

"And I do like the time I spend with her. I relax when we are together and she teases me and makes me laugh and I trust her. I don't think she could ever let me down. I'm just not sure I can say the same about myself."

"Don't talk yourself down Robert. This conversation proves that you very much want to do right by her and you're endeavouring to make sure you don't let her down." He only smiles slightly, it was something he had heard so many times. People kept saying he was a good person – Isabella, Dickie, Isidore. It was becoming a sort of repetitive mantra and it was all very nice, but it was not helping with his predicament.

He didn't much care whether they thought he was a good person or not, he wanted to know what his confusing feelings towards his wife were all about. Being a good person was just not at all what he felt Cora deserved and somehow, sometimes, he wasn't sure it covered what he thought about her anymore. Yes, at the start he had tried to be kind and do what was right, but recently desire had taken over somewhat. He had let his instincts overtake him since the trip to America and whilst he had thought that would be a bad plan when they had been on their honeymoon, he was beginning to think that maybe it had been a good plan. Things seems to feel so much more natural and real now that he wasn't trying to make sure he wasn't offending her, hurting her or worrying about whether she was happy. They were physically and emotionally closer since he had relaxed with her. He was happier telling her things now, admitting his concerns, and she was bolder with her requests and free with her emotions. She had returned to the Cora he remembered from their season and Paris. He felt more like the man he had been then too. His thoughts swing to that Paris street, the pavement wet from the night rain and Cora stood in her blue ensemble staring at the architecture of the theatre. She had been beautiful then. She was more beautiful now because he knew she was as lovely in heart as appearance.

"What makes you think you aren't in love with her?" His grandmother shocks him back from his memories. He shakes his head to erase the image of Cora with her head tilted in the Paris sunrise to return his thoughts to the present.

"I suppose I feel like I wouldn't be this confused or undecided if I was definitely in love with her. Shouldn't I know whether or not I love my wife?" He finds that a strangled laugh whips into the air between them. He had thought this conversation would help, but he was beginning to think it was raising more questions that it was answering. He shouldn't be surprised, that was every thought he had about Cora at the moment.

"I think you're overthinking it Robert. If you love her it will be instinctive, it will make itself known to you. I can't say how, and I can't say when, but love can be trusted, and it will show itself if it is there."

"Do you think I'm in love with her?" His grandmother's face stretches out into a wide smile, and then she laughs. Her eyes crinkle at the corners and her head tilts backwards. She reaches for her walking cane and stands – the conversation was at an end.

"Oh Robert. It is the job of grandmothers to interfere, but it is not our job to give you all the answers, otherwise what would be the point in living?" She chuckles again. "You're a fine young man, and you will work it out. But I suggest you stop thinking about it, that won't help."

"But I can't seem to think about anything else." She hesitates near the doorway and turns back to him, watching him over her shoulder.

"Do you mean Cora? Or the question of whether you are in love with her?"

"Both."

"Well by all means keep thinking about Cora. But don't keep asking your brain to question your feelings. It will only tangle itself up."

"But aren't they the same thing?"

"Don't trick me Robert. If I answer that, I give you my answer about whether I think you're in love with her. I was not born yesterday and I won't fall for that." Her laugh is soft and she has moved forward to the doorway now, and seems about to disappear through it, when she suddenly turns to face him. He has never seen someone stand so motionless. She appears completely statuesque, even her eyes don't seem to move as she contemplates whether to speak or not. Robert stands staring at her, but her eyes don't seem to see him, she is somewhere in her memories. "I do have one last piece of advice that might help you. Love is about giving someone else the power to hurt you, to wound you emotionally in a way that no other person will ever be able to." With that she leaves the room and with it she takes away any hope of him ever finding the answers he needs anywhere but within himself.

It was frustrating that the one person who had always given into him, who had always helped him, had refused to help him now. He sighs in frustration and moves towards the desk that Cora had already decided to move across the room to where she can have a view out of the window across the lawn. He slumps into the chair. It might be because the desk jostles a little as his knee hits the leg, it might simply be that earlier he had been too distracted, either way, for the first time his eyes fall on the notebook that sits on Cora's desk.

The notebook.

The blank notebook that he had last seen when he had placed it in his inside breast pocket on the morning of their wedding, cherishing the words she had written for him the night before. It had been their means of communicating when they could not see each other. The notebook had been in many ways the thing that had brought them together. It had relayed to her a secret message he had left her when he's departed Paris without saying goodbye. He flips it open now. It had really been his turn to write the next 'secret' letter, but she had asked for it back after their honeymoon and he had obliged.

The book falls open at a new page of Cora's writing. It has a date in the top right corner – the day her father had died.

Robert,

I don't think I'll ever show you this letter. I imagine I might rip it out as soon as I've written it, but I want to write it down. I want to write down somewhere what this morning feels like.

Last night you stayed the night in my bed for the first time. Yesterday you told me that you wanted to embrace my love. I didn't think I could ever love you more, I didn't think my heart had room to be full of more of you, and yet I feel that maybe my heart could expand forever for you.

I feel sad today, terribly, terribly sad. Of course I do. My father has departed me forever. But I also feel a distinct sense of hope.

Maybe you will learn to love me? You see, that is why this letter is not for you to see – you wouldn't like that – it would scare you.

This morning though, I made a realisation. You made one yesterday and I make one today. I think you do love me. Not maybe as I love you, but you do love me, in your way. I have decided that this is enough. It is more than enough to build the life we both want on, so I think we should focus on that. Life is too short to argue over the finer details. We love each other, and that must count for something.

Cora xx

He blinks rapidly and then he re-reads the words. Why on earth had she never said anything? He pauses his thoughts as they start to race. He answers his own question. She had told him. Not in words, but in looks, in the fact that just a few days after she had written this letter she'd initiated their physical relationship again. As he had chosen to embrace her love, she had seen something new in him and she had given her heart to him all over again.

The Christmas tree lights blink down at her.

She turns her gaze away. Blinking lights were only increasing her headache.

The week before Christmas had not been a good one. Her monthly cycle had awoken her with cramps on the very day of the arrival of every Yorkshire neighbour her mother-in-law could find for her to recite facts about and make small talk with. The inclusion of Dickie Merton – usually a favourite of hers – was marred by the reappearance of Ada Merton. It was safe to say the new Lady Merton was to very few people's taste. She was in fact a rare topic on which Cora and Lady Grantham agreed, which only served to prove how ghastly she truly was.

Christmas Eve had been the tenants party, which had largely consisted of singing carols. The tenant farmers mainly came alone, without their wives or children, so it was mainly a group of men. The last time she had felt like she was being gawped at so unwaveringly had been during her London Season. It was not something she had relished then, and she disliked it even more when she felt so completely outnumbered. She had stuck largely with Rosamund by the piano as they had sung together. Lady Grantham had at least complimented her singing abilities, but that had been veiled by a tight remark that it was a miracle she knew the words to the carols given her upbringing. She had simply rolled her eyes – her mother had of course made her learn them.

The entire week had been made more labourious and more tiring by the pressing at her abdomen that always accompanied her monthlies, and reduced her appetite. Naturally, the situation had meant her intimacy with Robert was currently on hold, which seemed rather unfair when it was Christmas. However much he protested that it was fine, she knew he was upset about it. He had been glum all week. She couldn't blame him. It was a double blow for them both – no sex, and no baby Crawley. Every time she tried to discuss it though, he shut her down, telling her that when the moment was right, it would happen. But his words were not the balm he was trying to make them. She could read his eyes as easily as she could read books – he was upset about it all. This had only served to make her melancholier. Robert had been her emotional support since her father had died, and he seemed to be distancing himself once again which had allowed her fog of grief to descend, mixed as it was with her dislike of Robert being upset.

"Cora, this one is for you." Rosamund handing her a gift brings her crashing back to the present and out of her reverie. She hadn't even noticed the transition from giving the servants their presents beneath the tree and returning to the library. She nods her thanks and takes the present. It was a book, the weight and shape of it told her that immediately, possibly even two wrapped together. She flips the label over, expecting to find Rosamund's handwriting, or her mother-in-law's. She almost drops the present as she sees Robert's sprawl of her name. He hadn't written anything else, just her name.

Cora

She traces her finger over the writing. It brings to mind their long-forgotten notebook of letters to each other. That might be rather an understatement – there were only a couple of letters in there. But it reminded her of how little she actually saw her husband's handwriting, and how much she admired it. Although, perhaps it was not so much his hand as reading the words he chose to write to her. That was the beauty, understanding his soul. It had been too long since they had written a letter to each other. She had bared her soul into the notebook on the night of her father's death, but Robert had never seen that, and he never would, not unless…

Her thoughts stop there, as they so often did. She would not allow herself to think about the 'unless'. She had written her truth, and her life story in that notebook that night. Robert did love her, in his way, and that would have to be enough.

"Cora?" She does drop the gift now, it falls flat into her lap. Lady Grantham is peering at her down her nose, holding out another gift to her, and holding beneath her arm the present she had just opened that was from her and Robert. "Ah, you are with us. This one is from Lord Grantham and I." Cora takes the package, it was probably some jewellery, based on the shape and weight of the box.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me until you've opened it, you might not like it." Lady Grantham chuckles softly to herself, but then her face falls into a frown and she tilts her head. Cora knows she is trying to read her and ascertain her thoughts. She looks away. She turns her attention to the gift from her parents-in-law and finds, as expected, a set of matching emerald teardrop jewels – earrings and a pendant. They truly are beautiful, and although a little larger than her normal taste, she knew they were a sign of her role in this family. She was a Viscountess and she would be a Countess one day, her jewellery was as much a part of that as anything else.

Tracing Robert's handwriting one last time she peels open the corners of his wrapping. There are three volumes in the package, one almost slides to the floor as the paper gives way. She turns the bundle to the side, intrigued to see the titles of the books Robert had chosen to purchase.

She isn't sure which comes first – the gasp or the tears.

She has to blink a few times just to make sure she had read the title correctly.

Pride and Prejudice.

She flips open the first volume, her suspicions confirmed when she sees the printed date as the year of the novel's first publication - 1813. Robert had found her a first edition. She blinks rapidly as she reads the title page, tracing her fingers over the words.

By the author of Sense and Sensibility.

Now was not the time to dwell on the unfairness of life for women or that Jane Austen went without the credit for her work in her lifetime. Now was for being filled with love for her husband. This proved more than anything else, that he did understand her and that he did cherish their marriage. She was an avid reader, he could easily have brought her a handful of new books for her to read, but instead he had chosen to find something that was special to their relationship.

She looks up. Robert is watching her. His expression is soft but the gaze is unwavering. There was no doubt about it. Robert did love her. He might not know it, but it was true. She could see it in his subconscious gestures. He would not have purchased her such a gift from anything other than love. It would have taken some time for him to find, it was not a simple gift without thought – jewellery or the latest best-selling novel. This was a gift with such a mountain of meaning. He could not have chosen that without some help from his heart. She doubted he was aware of his change of feelings yet, but hopefully, one day soon he would realise. He moves towards her, taking a seat beside her on the settee. Their eyes don't drop from each other.

"Do you like it?" She is struck dumb for a second, in surprise. She couldn't think of anything stranger for him to have asked at such a moment. Whilst her heart had been swelling with the realisation of his love, his had been doubting her thoughts towards the gift! Surely, he didn't doubt that she liked it? She opens her mouth, but her hesitation has already got the better of him. "I know you've read it, and it's not new, but – "

"Robert, I love it." She reaches across to squeeze his leg, the books falling redundant into her lap. "I don't think anyone has ever given me a more perfect gift. To be honest I think you've set yourself rather a difficult task. We have a lifetime of Christmases and birthdays to come, and I am not sure you'll ever find a gift better than this one."

"I rather think this gift might be the most important one. Beginnings are important. I hope to have so many years with you Cora, that the gifts we give will be insignificant to the memories we share. I intend to make those memories the real gifts. The first Christmas gift will always be a memory, it is the first, after all, which is why this is the most important gift."

The sentiment was endearing and made her heart feel completely full, at the same time as also feeling lighter than it ever had been. The wait was over. Robert had consumed her heart for some time, knowing he loved her filled it to a capacity she didn't think was possible, but also lightened it. The wisps of the fog of grief were still there, bundled in corners of her heart that were shared between herself and her father, but the overwhelming feeling in her heart would be her love for Robert and the love he gave her in return.

"You're right, it is the most important gift you will ever give me." She wasn't referring to the book, as she gently leans forward to kiss him on the cheek. Robert's heart was hers, and that was all that she had ever wanted. She blinks rapidly at the tears she can feel accumulating in the corners of her eyes It wouldn't do any good to cry – even tears of joy – they would confuse Robert and draw attention to the pair of them. "Have you opened my present to you?"

"No, which one is that?" She takes the small item wrapped in red paper from the top of the pile Robert has placed beside him on the settee, and hands it to him. He unwraps it slowly and diligently to reveal a snuff box. Cora watches his face, and the wide smile that spreads across it as he traces the pattern on the lid makes her own face spread into another warm smile. She would never tire of making him happy and seeing that smile light up his face. "It's lovely Cora, thank you. It will fit nicely in my collection."

"Good." The truth was it had been a nightmare finding such an item and choosing one that she thought Robert would like – she didn't know the first thing about snuff boxes. But he liked it, so all had been successful.

He reaches into her lap and grasps her hand.

The pressure reminds her of the bookshop in Paris. He had gripped her wrist then, and a spark of attraction had raced across her skin. This time, his touch doesn't send sparks, it sends something more important – comfort and contentment. Completeness. This isn't a touch of physical desire and attraction, it is the touch of love. Her skin doesn't doubt it, and as their eyes meet, her eyes don't doubt it either.

Robert truly loved her.

"Happy Christmas Cora." He takes her hand to his lips and kisses it. She knows it is a gesture to match his seasonal greeting, but to her, it would always remain the kiss he had given her after he had fallen in love with her properly.

"Happy Christmas darling." She squeezes his hand. It was indeed the happiest of Happy Christmases.

His father captures his attention over a book he has just unwrapped, and he stands and moves over to the other settee. Cora takes a moment to watch him before she turns her attention back to her gift. She runs her fingers over the spines of the books and across the binding of the front cover edges. She flicks the first one open again and it falls to what was undoubtedly the last page it had been fully opened to. Robert's handwriting is scrawled across the blank page on the reverse of the title page.

If she had doubted any of the looks, or any of the touches, she doesn't when her eyes absorb the words he had written.

For my dearest Cora on our first Christmas. With my love, Robert.

She lifts her gaze, but Robert is no longer watching her. Did he know? Were these words a moment of impulse, a hurried message in which his subconscious had poured onto the page without his knowledge or were these words deliberate? Was he telling her he loved her or was he still oblivious? Only time would tell.

Not that it mattered. She knew. Her darling Robert loved her.