Robert woke with a start when the bedroom door clicked shut. Evans crossed the sitting room to the suite door, but her gaze strayed to Robert where it fixed on him uneasily. Usually tractable, Robert was somewhat confused by the maid's steady disapproval but thought nothing more of it. Sleep was receding and anticipation was tingling through him. Just on the other side of the door sat his wife, in a gift of his choosing. Just the thought of her set his blood to a simmer.
He remembered, vividly, sitting with the seamstress and attempting to describe his desire to her without fumbling the words too much. He hemmed and flushed and all the while the business-like woman sketched before him, bringing his wishes to life.
Together they settled on a nightgown that was a single column of silk, a long and slender silhouette that would accentuate her small frame. Lace adorned the sleeves and followed a neckline that was not strictly modest. Robert longed to run his hands along her silk clad lines; waist, back, thighs. The color - he didn't know much about colors - but it was a blue he would sure would complement her eyes. The seamstress promised him it would be quite the original, and that it would suit his wife perfectly. Having never such a thing himself, he had to be content with her assurances.
When Robert had told Rosamund of his extravagance she seemed pleased and impressed by him. With delight she promised to pick up the gown for him and hand-deliver it to Downton the day before the wedding. As she handed it over her eyes had twinkled as she told him the seamstress was particularly pleased with her design, and that she knew Robert would love it too. When he imagined Cora in it, his pulse doubled.
Robert waited until the door clicked shut behind Evans and double-checked the lock behind him. He wished he'd thought to send a message with Evans that they weren't to be disturbed in the morning. Whatever the outcome of the night, he thought they would both need time to regroup without an audience. Cora wasn't a terribly early riser, but Evans was annoyingly prompt and considering the suspect way she'd stared at him, he felt she already knew what was going to happen. With a rueful shake of his head Robert crossed to the bedroom door. It was unwise to get ahead of oneself. Better to simply take the night as it passed.
He rapped his knuckles lightly against the door and waited a beat before Cora's voice called out for him to come in.
Nerves struck him again, but they were mellowed by a pleasant evening, and the slow burn of anticipation. It occurred to him, dimly, that it was much easier far away from Downton. It was as though they had escaped the gravitational pull of expectation; he felt lighter and freer.
What coherent thoughts might have been in his mind exited as the door swung open and Cora stood before him. Her hair - was it really that long? - tumbled over her shoulders. The room was lit with flickering gas lamps and her skin was luminescent in the half light. He realized, belatedly, that he was staring and tugged at his bow tie before allowing his eyes to follow the curves of his creation.
As promised, the blue silk was perfect both for her skin tone and her eyes. The delicate lacing over the shoulders and across the chest was perfect, although it seemed to Robert that the neckline plunged far deeper than he remembered. He traced the line that nipped in at her waist, her silhouette just visible beneath the thin material and allowed his gaze to caress over her hips and...
It stopped. Just below the shadowy apex of her thighs. The material simply ended.
Robert thought about averting his gaze from the expanse of thigh revealed, dumbstruck by the notion that if she shifted just a little bit, he would see...
"What have you done?" It escaped his lips before he realized that he was speaking. Truth be told, his brain had shut down completely. "This isn't..."
"What have I done?" Cora did shift then, but her hands grabbed the hem of the nightgown and tugged it to cover herself more fully. It did very little good. "You ordered this. What have you done?"
"I didn't...this wasn't...the lace...and long." He was stuttering, floundering for words, unable to look away from the salacious vision before him. "The seamstress...and...your breasts."
He had the good sense to flush scarlet at his words, shifting from foot to foot before spinning on his heel to face the door behind him. He closed his eyes when he heard her shifting, knowing without question that he had failed once more. What started out as a wonderful night had fallen into a farcical kind of chaos that ended with him discussing his wife's breasts.
To her face.
It was all too mortifying to comprehend.
"Robert?" Cora asked, and he could hear the thick tears in her tone.
"I'm sorry, Cora." The words spilled out. "I don't know what happened. I shouldn't have said..."
"Robert." This time there was no question, and some of the heaviness had dissipated. He didn't dare turn around until the slip of material landed at his feet. He spun so quickly he nearly toppled over, aghast to see Cora standing in the middle of the room completely nude.
To his surprise, it wasn't tears that sparkled at the corners of her eyes, but mirth. Her hand covered her lips but it was obviously that she was smiling and what he'd taken for sobs were actually the hiccups of laughter.
"You should have seen your face."
Robert simply continued to stare as Cora stood before him, boldly nude and giggling. It occurred to him that she drank nearly as much as he had, and she was quite a bit smaller than he. She was obviously drunk.
"Yes, I'm drunk." Cora answered between giggles, one arm across her breasts and her other hand against her lips. "But your face."
"My face?" Robert felt like he was two steps behind, rooted to the spot even as Cora took a step backwards and dropped heavily onto the bed, her sides still shaking with mirth. "Your face."
"Don't lie, Robert. You weren't looking at my face. Still aren't, come to that."
He shifted his gaze slightly and their blue eyes met. Robert could feel a smile tugging at his lips in spite of the mortification he felt.
It took Cora several long moments to compose herself and when she did, there were tears on her cheeks. However, they were far different from the many tears he knew she shed in their short marriage. These were rimmed in joy and shed with laughter.
He was so confused. He knew he was possibly drunk as well, but he hadn't suspected he was quite this drunk. Nothing seemed to make sense. He ordered his wife a beautiful custom nightgown only for it to show up hacked to pieces. And when he accused his wife of doctoring the costume before oogling her naked body, her response was unbridled laughter.
It was too late for him to come to the conclusion that perhaps he wasn't cut out to be married, but that was neither here nor there.
Finally Cora collected herself enough to talk. "You were as surprised as I was."
"You didn't...with the nightgown?" Robert looked down at the slip of silk resting on his feet.
"God no." Cora slid backwards against the pillows and seemed to come aware, once more, of her state of undress. She pulled a sheet up over herself and Robert felt a twinge of disappointment. "I thought you did."
"I swear, this was not the gown I ordered." Robert still stood nervously, debating moving closer, when Cora leaned forward and patted the bed. He sidled over and perched at the foot. "I was very specific. I don't know how it could have happened. She seemed so very reputable."
Robert glanced down at his hands, lost in the mystery of the retailored nightgown. "Even Rosamund said when she picked it up that it was..."
It had to be the alcohol that had him coming to the realization so slowly, but once Robert ran through the sequence of events and recalled his sister's involvement, there was no longer any secret to be had.
"Rosamund."
"Your sister did this?" Cora asked skeptically. She didn't know Rosamund particularly well, so Robert could understand her hesitation. Women like Rosamund weren't supposed to be so...playful.
Vindictive.
Evil.
Troublesome.
"Rosamund did this." Robert confirmed. His sister and her pranks. Her worldly sense of humor. Her fascination with the grand guignol. "She's...absurd."
"I like her." Cora responded, shrugging her shoulders enough to have the sheet gaping. She tugged it back into place but caught Robert staring, again.
He looked away.
"Robert." She was saying his name a lot this night, but it was not plaintive or tentative. It was as though she was creating a touchstone, a reminder.
"Cora." Her name was easier to say than it had been, easier to place her face with the sound. In spite of everything, she was becoming familiar. The thought warmed him.
"I'm at something of a disadvantage." She indicated to her body. "I think it only fair that you level the playing field."
It wasn't the first time she'd caught him off-guard that evening. He suspected that it wouldn't be the last, either. He hoped it wouldn't, anyway.
"You want me to..." Robert trailed off, and he felt his eyes bulging.
"Take off your clothes." Cora stated matter-of-factly. "I can help if you like."
"No, I can manage." Robert sputtered then turned away. His fingers felt swollen and ungainly as he unknotted his tie and tugged at the buttons. He abandoned his tie in lieu of his cufflinks but soon abandoned those on a muttered curse. He returned to the front of his shirt, found difficulty in loosing even those buttons and looked heavenward. The recently forgotten feeling of facing a karmic retribution was resurfacing and he closed his eyes against his frustration.
And embarrassment.
He was suddenly and undeniably self-conscious about being fully nude in front of Cora. Her faith in him, to stand before him completely bare, spoke equally to her strength. He wasn't sure he was capable of baring himself to her, opening himself to whatever criticism she might have. He wasn't as active as many of his friends and Rosamund was often teasing him about the slight paunch at his middle. He was an aristocrat therefore pale, not like the swarthy cowboys one so often heard of in America. He was a rider so his thighs were toned but his arms weren't very well-defined.
"Are you sure you don't need my help?" This time Cora's voice was much closer, and Robert jumped as though scalded. "You seem to be having a bit of trouble."
Gentle pressure on his shoulders turned Robert to face her. She had tucked the sheet around herself in a makeshift toga, much to his relief. Her cheeks were stained with a pale flush and though her eyes were still hazy with drink, some of the sharpness had returned to them. Seeing her regarding him with such unabashed fondness helped to still the clamor in his head and he didn't exactly notice at first that her nimble fingers were making quick work of the buttons of his dress shirt. She turned her attention to his cufflinks, cradling his hand between hers briefly before working the clasps. When she reached for the waistband of his pants he stilled her.
"I can take it from here." He rasped. Carefully he stripped and set aside each layer of clothing until he had formed a small pile on the chair by the armoire. When he stood in nothing but his shorts, he looked back to where Cora had retired to the end of the bed.
Her chin rested in her hand and she watched him lazily, a soft smile ghosting her lips. When he reached for the waist of the last layer, she finally looked away.
"You're nervous." Robert said wondrously. Of course he knew she might be nervous, but he had been lulled by the liquid courage she had partaken in earlier that evening. It helped, he thought, to know that someone shared your feelings.
It helped, the thought repeated. "I'm nervous, too."
"Are you worried I'll disappoint you?" Cora asked, although her words were muffled by the her hand and the fact that she was turned almost completely away from him.
"No." Robert answered easily, truthfully. "I'm worried I'll disappoint you."
Cora's expression, when she turned to look at him, was shock personified. "How could you disappoint me?"
"How could you disappoint me?" He parroted back to her. Saying the words, he began to realize how silly they were. How silly they both were.
How little they knew one another.
How much he wanted to know her.
"How," he asked again, his voice lower and filled with an unnamed emotion. "How could you possibly disappoint me?"
Oh my god, how mean am I to leave you there? SO MEAN. JE NE REGRETTE RIEN. ;)
But I introduce you to my second prompt, 'Robert buys Cora some nightwear only to have it "amended" by Rosamund'. I swear they're going to be less idiotic next chapter now that they're sufficiently sauced and naked and talking like grown-ups (kind of). Poor robert. My take is that he's basically a sexually inept goofball with a wife who is aristocratically socially inept. The blind leading the blind and all that. That's what makes them so functional. She gives him sex, he gives her class. Didn't Kate Hepburn say that about Ginger and Fred? Whatever.
It applies. Thanks for hanging with me on this and I hope to get this bad boy wrapped up before the next Big Damn Holiday Smut Exchange.
