Edith was, perhaps, more than a little bit envious of Mary. Not only was she now entitled to be a braggart about being grown-up, she got the rest of the day off from her lessons. Moping about after breakfast, hoping she could hide away in the library for a little bit longer, she became so caught up in a book she was reading that she didn't even hear her father enter and begin to rustle his morning paper. He sat down on the settee and startled when he caught sight of her.
"Edith, aren't you supposed to be having your lessons upstairs in the nursery?" he said, folding the paper in his lap.
"Yes," Edith conceded, shutting her book with a dull thud. "I don't want to. Mary doesn't have to have lessons today and I don't want them either. I think I should have a day off too. In moral support of her."
Robert chuckled. Moral support? And oh yes, poor Mary indeed. He pat the settee next to him and beckoned Edith over. She was almost hesitant - while Robert was an affectionate father, it was clear that he was most affectionate toward Mary - while Cora was forever preoccupied with showering love over baby Sybil (who wasn't a baby anymore; though you'd be hard pressed to convince Cora of that, the way she coddled her so!). Edith had always felt a bit left out and had, more or less, stopped expecting to be listened to - or at least, not heard.
Taking a seat next to her father, she looked up at him. He had a kind face- never scruffy with whiskers, except right after he came back from the war. He may not have looked at her often, but at least when he did, his eyes were loving and gentle. He may have been passionate about his first-born but with that passion came a tendency to fight - at least with Edith, he didn't get so riled up.
"What's troubling you, my dear?" he said, "Are you jealous that Mary gets a day off? Did your Mama explain to you why Mary isn't having her lessons today?"
"Oh, Papa, I know all about it. I knew about it before Mama did - that's for certain. I'm not jealous that Mary isn't having her lessons - but," she felt her face grow warm. She never imagined talking about anything even remotely related to her monthlies with her Papa, "I suppose I am a bit envious that she's. . .well, in bed all day." She looked up at her father and gathered, but the pink in his cheeks, that he understood her insinuation.
"Edith, as I'm sure your Mama has already told you, in due time you will also find yourself in Mary's situation. Now, I can't imagine that it is anything at all that you should be envious of," he picked up his newspaper and crinkled it awkwardly, "From what I understand it's a rather heinous affair. I should think, if anything, you ought to feel lucky that it's Mary and not you who is up her in bed ill."
Not able to help herself at seeing her Papa be, well, so awkward and school-boy-ish, Edith giggled. She knew he was only trying to make her feel better- to cheer her up and tell her to look on the bright side of things. But of course he could never understand why commencing her monthlies would be such a special thing - and of course neither he nor Mama ever understood why Mary and Edith were so competitive about every, little thing between sisters.
"Now, I really can't, in good conscious, allow you to forgo your lessons today, Edith." Robert said, reaching over and tucking a loose strand of hair behind his daughter's ear. "But, if you'd like to stay just while I finish the paper - enough time to read another chapter of your novel, I would think- then I will tell your governess that I am the reason you are late."
Edith grinned, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck, "Oh, thank you Papa!" She nestled into his chest for a lingering moment and he kissed the side of her hair. She so wished that they had moments alone together more often- no sooner had she had the thought than her Mama walked into the library.
"Edith, why aren't you upstairs having your lessons?" she said sternly, walking over to the tea cart.
"I requested that Edith join me for a bit after breakfast this morning darling." Robert said, "We're just finishing up a bit of non-required reading and then she is off for her afternoon studies, isn't that right Edith?" he said, giving her a little wink. Edith nodded and leapt up, returning to where she had hidden her book in the stacks behind them. Engrossing herself in the story once more, she didn't notice her mother taking her place on the settee next to Robert, and their conversation was of no consequence to her now that she had won her keep in the library.
"Do you know what the matter with Sybil is?" Cora said, sipping her tea, "She reacted rather severely to Mary's being ill this morning."
Robert shrugged, without looking up from his paper, "She seemed alright to me. She was headed into the nursery just as I was coming down for breakfast. Other than, perhaps, looking a bit bleary-eyed, she seemed fine."
Cora sighed, "She was almost desperate to stay in Mary's room this morning. She was crying about it."
Realizing through his wife's persistent conversation that he was not going to progress another line into the paper until she had finished, Robert once again folded the paper into his lap.
"I hardly think that's unusual." He lowered his voice a bit, gesturing to Edith with his gaze, "This one's feeling a bit envious of Mary's languishing in bed today, too."
"Well, that I understand." Cora said, "Though I don't believe Sybil is old enough to understand the reason for the languishing." she shrugged, again, "I suppose perhaps Mary and Sybil have a much friendlier rapport than I thought."
"I would not be opposed to that in the least!" Robert said, "I think we should cultivate those bonds wherever they crop up." he cleared his throat, "Lord knows they are a sparse crop."
Cora stirred her tea, smiling a bit. "Robert, do you recall when Rosamund. . .became a woman? Somehow I can't imagine your Mama bringing her a hot water bottle and soothing her hair."
Robert chuckled, "No, I don't think there was any discussion of the event at all. Or, if there was, it certainly happened behind closed doors- far away from my virgin ears." he thought a moment, "To be entirely honest with you, darling, I had no concept of it really - until you came to Downton and suddenly I found myself in a far more intimate setting than with any other woman."
Cora blushed, "Oh, you must have been terribly embarrassed by me!" her voice hushed, "I'm sorry to have introduced you to the dreaded concept."
Robert shrugged, "If I understand it, it is far more notable when it doesn't make an appearance." he chuckled, "I remember the first time you mentioned it to me, in fact. It's denoted absence."
Patting his hand affectionately, a nostalgic grin creased Cora's face, "Oh, yes. Well, that was quite a surprise to me as well. But a long awaited and joyous one, indeed."
Robert studied his wife's face a moment. He remembered that morning perfectly and wondered if she did too. Though her glinting blue eyes seemed to become misty at the mention of the day, he couldn't tell if it was from the sweetness of the memory- or the realization that they had both somehow grown old.
It was snowing - not a blizzard, just light, feathery flakes that fell so slowly in the cool morning air that they seemed almost to be suspended in the air. Robert had been standing at the window of the bedroom, having woken up before Cora as he did most mornings, and instead of hustling about to go downstairs and begin his day, he had felt the need to stop and take in the beautiful view of the estate in snow.
He remembered hearing her rustle beneath the covers- and without turning he had been able to picture what she looked like as she broke free of sleep. Her lips pouted, eyes still closed, she would stretch and arch her back, letting out a loan groan of resistance; their bed was always warm. He knew that next, she would reach over for him - and not finding him, no doubt, her eyes would bolt open. He turned around, his timing impeccable, just as she turned her face to the window.
"Good morning darling." he said, walking over to her side of the bed, "You've got to see the snow- it's marvelous. The morning air is almost thick with it."
Cora smiled sleepily- then, without warning, her expression changed to one of pain and her face whitened. She sat up quickly, looked at him worriedly, then before he could get a handle on what was happening, she had thrown the covers back and scurried into the adjoining bath. Rushing to the door, only to have it shut purposefully in his face, Robert called after her.
"Cora? Cora, darling, are you alright?"
A few coughs. A pause. Then the unmistakable sound of a pained retch.
"Cora, are you ill? Should I call for Dr. Clarkson?"
A few moments passed and then, the door slowly opened. Robert had stepped back, backing up until he could sit on the bed. Cora stepped out sheepishly, her face beaded with sweat and her skin sallow and pale.
"No, darling. You don't need to call for Dr. Clarkson."
Robert held out his hands to her and she took them gratefully, as she seemed slow and unsteady on her feet. She sat down gingerly on the bed next to him and hiccuped.
"Cora, you look wretched. Are you sure you don't want me to ring for the doctor?"
Shaking her head, an exhausted chuckle escaping her, Cora turned to him. "I already saw Dr. Clarkson."
"And you're still not well? Why didn't he tell me -" he stopped, "Why didn't you tell me? How long have you been ill like this?"
His concern was endearing, but Cora knew that she could no longer keep the secret. Dr. Clarkson had diagnosed her nearly a week before - the sickness and her cessation of monthlies had made her wonder, but he had confirmed it. He had, however, encouraged her to wait just a little longer before telling anyone else. He said since she was young and otherwise healthy, there was no reason to think the baby wasn't healthy too - but anything could happen in the first few months. And, it had taken them much longer than they had thought, and perhaps there was a reason why. He didn't want to worry her unnecessarily, but he always wanted her to be prepared just in case it wasn't to be.
Looking at Robert now, she couldn't contain it any longer. The problem was, she didn't know how to say it. It wasn't that she didn't think he would be excited- for she knew he would be more so - he would be elated. But it was a sensitive topic for men, this she knew.
"I went to him because of my monthlies." she blurted. This was true, though as soon as she said it she knew it would mean nothing to Robert. It wasn't a clue to him in the least. As she predicted, she was met with nothing more from him than a furrowed brow.
"Well, you see, Robert darling, I stopped having them."
"And that's what's making you ill?" he said.
Cora studied him a moment- fearing he was denser-minded man than she thought, but then she realized that he really had no reason to understand the connection. Probably no man would have, except of course, a doctor.
"Robert. monthlies only stop when you reach your dotage or. . .well, there's only one other reason."
He looked at her blankly.
"It, um, can also cause an array of other symptoms - all of which Dr. Clarkson assured me were perfectly normal. One of them, I'm afraid, is the retching. Aversion to certain smells and foods is another, I'm afraid. And soon," she took a deep breath, feeling her heart thumping wildly in her chest, "I think you'll be able to tell."
Robert still didn't seem to be following. She took his hand between both of hers. It was warm and calloused -and to her, it felt like home.
"Robert - I'm expecting."
He blinked a few times in quick succession, then, he squeezed her hand with anticipation, "Expecting what, my darling? Is the illness to get worse? Is it serious?"
Perhaps it was the hormonal changes that Dr. Clarkson had warned her about, or perhaps she was just really in need of breakfast, but his daftness had pushed her beyond the realm of nerves into full-blown anxiety.
"Oh, Robert! A baby! I'm expecting a baby!" she got up and raced over to the window, letting her forehead rest against the cool glass. She felt her eyes grow hot with tears- she wasn't sure why, exactly, frustration maybe. And she had already begun to feel a second wave of nausea building. A few moments passed and then she felt his warm, gentle hands snake around her waist. He pulled her away from the window and into a warm embrace. He pulled back and looked at her, taking her face gently in his hands.
"Cora - a baby? Are you really?" he smiled, his eyes damp, "Are we really? At last?"
He looked at Cora now. She was looking at him with those same sparkling eyes, her face a little more drawn now that they had grown a few years older, with three daughters now underfoot and life at Downton had continued to change with each winter that passed them by - often in ways they never imagined.
"Do you remember, after that?" he said quietly, leaning in closer to her. She scooted forward on the settee so that she was mere inches away from his face.
"If I recall, you tucked me back into bed - but no sooner had we cozied ourselves under the covers than I had to be sick again. I believe we spent the better part of the morning celebrating from either end of the door to the bath."
Robert kissed her lightly, and felt her smile against his mouth. Lost in their reverie, he had almost forgotten about Edith. When he and Cora both heard a throat clearing across the room, they parted. The girl's governess was in the doorway.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt, Your Lordship. Lady Edith hasn't come for her lessons today. I wanted to make sure she hadn't taken ill like Lady Mary has."
Robert fumbled and looked behind the settee, where Edith was still completely lost in her storybook. He smiled and then, reluctantly, confessed her wherabouts.
"I called Edith in after breakfast. I'm sorry to have troubled you by not letting you know. But, she is all set now to resume her lessons this afternoon, aren't you Edith?"
Escaping from the book - which she seemed pained to close- Edith sighed. "Yes, Papa." she kissed his cheek as she passed him on her way to the doorway, "And thank you" she whispered. She and her governess headed out into the hall, and the governess then turned momentarily back to Lord and Lady Grantham.
"I don't mean to trouble you, m'lord." she said, "But you, or perhaps you, m'lady, maybe want to go upstairs and see what's happened to Lady Sybil."