7 January, 1922
The morning of the servant's ball at Downton, Violet rose early. In fact, she'd been an early riser for many years – even before the War, despite her son's jests to the contrary.
Old age did that to you.
Old age does a lot of things to you, Violet mused as her lady's maid dressed her hair with careful fingers. With a sigh, Violet rubbed lavender-scented lotion into wrinkled, spotted hands, looking down at them. There were times she scarcely recognized her own body, her own face. To the latter she applied a few cosmetics. She didn't trust her maid to do this sparingly enough, so always did it herself.
While her maid finished with her coiffure (the woman had learned to take her time over it, to meet Violet's exacting standards, and, besides, what else had the Dowager Countess to do so early in the morning?), Violet stared at herself in the mirror. Normally she might read, but there were things that weighed on her mind of late, and she often found herself in the middle of a reverie at the oddest times. Her eyes moved from her own face to the luxury with which her bedroom was appointed. It was a beautiful room, everything in it carefully selected by herself. It had been some little consolation upon having to move here. In some ways, she wanted to leave Downton when her husband died. Yes, it had been her home for decades, but…. There were so many memories, both painful and pleasant.
Even having this new bedroom, one in which he'd never slept, comforted her in her grief. Not that he'd ever slept in her bedroom at Downton. A husband and wife sleeping in the same room? It was so undignified – so common. No, the moments that Violet and Patrick had shared in her bedroom were more intimate than sleep. The ghost of a grin touched Violet's lips thinking of it. In spite of what her mother had told her to expect of that aspect of her marriage, she'd rather enjoyed the times her husband crept quietly into her room under the cover of the purple shadows and found his way under the sheets.
But, apart from a few times he'd fallen asleep with her after one of their more exhausting romps, he never purposely slept in her room. And, eventually, she supposed, if he hadn't died when they were so young, he'd have stopped slipping into her room altogether.
Dismissing her maid, Violet reached into her jewelry box for her wedding rings. She put them on, twisting them around her fingers. She supposed every marriage was different. But how shocked she'd been when she realized that her own son and his wife slept together in the same bed – on purpose. And that was very well when Cora was young and meant to have children. Violet assumed they would begin sleeping apart eventually – even if it meant only keeping to their own sides of the bed, to put it delicately.
It became obvious that this was most certainly not the case, as Cora's surprise pregnancy seven years before had proved. Again, Violet assumed that losing the child would put an end to such shenanigans. And, if not, then the hardships of the intervening years would.
Apparently, she'd been wrong.
Violet wasn't used to being wrong. It vexed her. Of course, no one knew that she was wrong apart from herself. Yet it rankled her no less.
If she was to grow old, at least she should have the one thing that old age was supposed to guarantee: wisdom. Not that she hadn't known her share of ridiculously stupid old geezers and biddies. But of course, they were not the Dowager Countess of Grantham, were they?
Glancing at the clock, Violet clutched her cane and rose out of her chair. She might not be the Countess of Grantham anymore, and she might be getting older, but being the Dowager still had its own duties attached to it. Besides, she'd invited Rosamund for tea that afternoon. And she had to be certain the cook had baked the right tea cakes.
It would be another busy day. She hoped she wouldn't fall asleep during the ball that evening. In a way, she was looking forward to the event. But it also meant another night spent in the presence of her son and daughter-in-law. As she left the room to go pester her cook, Violet couldn't help but wonder what those two were up to this morning. Probably still lying abed, she thought ungenerously.
When Robert woke, he felt his stomach lurch to realize Cora wasn't in his arms. But when he opened his eyes, he smiled and made no other movement. His wife sat up against her pillows, pressing her hands carefully against her belly. Her eyes followed the motion of her hands, and her face glowed with a soft radiance. From his position on his side, facing her, he watched as she continued to examine her abdomen.
The past couple of weeks had been fairly happy ones. Robert had been pleasantly surprised by Mary and Matthew's happy acceptance of the baby news. The tornado that he expected from one or the other of them had never materialized.
Edith's apology appeared to have broken through some barrier she'd had built up against her parents. Robert had been on the other side of the dressing room door and heard all when Edith tearfully reconciled with her mother. Thus, when his daughter sought him out before breakfast the next day, it took very little time for the two of them to make up as well. He wasn't sure what had brought on Edith's change of heart, but he was certainly happy to accept it.
He only wished his mother would have a change of heart as well. Violet still stubbornly refused to speak to her son unless it was in a group setting. She had come to the house fewer than a handful of times since Mary and Matthew had arrived. And, although she'd invited various members of their family to the Dower House, Robert and Cora were conspicuous by their absence from these invitations. Robert thought that, two months after the announcement, she would have relented, if only a little.
But she hadn't. However, since she was the only one who refused to participate in anything to do with the baby, Robert was, on the whole, vastly contented. And as he observed his wife's glowing countenance and the way she now cradled her baby bump, he knew that the word "contented" was inadequate. He was marvelously happy.
After a while, Cora sensed that she wasn't the only one awake and turned her head to look at her husband, smiling.
"What are you doing way over there?" he asked.
"I woke a little earlier from a horrible hot flash, and I didn't want to disturb you."
Robert knew this was her way of saying that she'd been too hot to sleep next to him, but didn't like to tell him. "Are you cool enough now, darling?"
Cora nodded. "Yes." She chuckled. "If I wasn't I would still have my night dress off."
"I'm sorry I missed that," he said, smirking and moving closer to her. "And what are you doing now?"
She rubbed her hands across her bump. "I could feel the baby moving." Tears sprang to her eyes.
Robert sat up. "You could?" He looked from her eyes to her hands, tentatively moving his own hand closer.
"I think it's too soon yet for you to feel it, my love." But she smiled and took his hand, pressing it where she'd last felt movement.
After a moment, he nearly jumped. "I felt it!"
Cora laughed lightly. "No, darling, that was my stomach. I'm ravenous." Watching his face fall, she added, "It won't be too much longer, Robert, and you'll be able to feel it too. You'll be the first one I let feel the baby. Alright?"
Robert touched her cheek with his other hand. "Alright. Should I ri– Cora, what are you doing?"
She'd leaned over to her bedside table, leaving his hand on her stomach, and opened the drawer. She pulled out a parcel and proceeded to unwrap it. Cake.
"Cora, I wish you wouldn't hide food all over the house. It's most disconcerting to reach into the drawer of my desk and pull out a plate of biscuits. Besides, you know you forget where you hide things. We find moldy food in the most bizarre places for months." He tried to sound stern, as the habit did actually annoy him a good deal, but she was so adorable – and her reasoning not completely off – that it was difficult to keep the sharpness in his voice.
She looked up at him a moment later, chocolate on the corners of her mouth and on her fingertips. "I'm sorry, darling, what were you saying?" She'd been too busy eating to hear him.
Robert shook his head and chuckled. "Nothing, sweetheart. But you're going to get crumbs in our bed." He watched as she broke another piece of cake off the slab in the cloth and ate it, her eyes closed in bliss. "Is it good cake?"
"Hmmmm…. Incredible," she purred.
"Let's just see then," he said in a low voice, leaning close to her and kissing chocolate from the side of her mouth. "Mmmm..." he hummed.
Cora turned her head suddenly and returned his kiss. Robert slid an arm around her shoulders and bent her back farther upon the pillows. Cora thrust the parcel of cake in the direction of the bedside table as best she could with her eyes closed. She missed, and it landed on the floor with a soft plop.
While Robert kissed her, he glided a hand over her breast, down her side, and over the curve of her hip. He began hitching up her night dress bit by bit, until he found the hem and slipped his hand lower, beneath her undergarments. He stroked her gently at first, his fingers teasing her, then with more intention, eliciting a gasp from Cora, who then placed her hand on the side of his neck.
Robert recoiled slightly, becoming still, then realized what had happened: Cora had smeared cake on his neck. Withdrawing his arm from around her shoulders, he grasped her hand and put her fingers to his lips. She watched for a moment as he licked her fingers, then had to close her eyes again because he'd simultaneously resumed his stroking between her thighs. Once her fingers were clean of chocolate, she pressed her lips to his and danced her fingers along his night shirt, deftly unbuttoning it with one hand. Then – even as she began to squirm as a result of his attentions – she pushed the night shirt down one shoulder, moving her head to his neck to kiss away the cake smeared there.
"Good God, Cora," he said gruffly, snaking his arm under her waist and pulling her closer as her lips traveled downward and her fingers grazed his nipple.
Cora inhaled sharply several times as he brought her over the edge. She continued panting as he drew her night dress over her head and her undergarments down her legs, then stripped off his own clothing. Robert gathered her in his arms, brushing her hair back from her forehead and gazing down into her eyes. "You are still the most gorgeous creature I've ever seen."
Grinning up at him, she pulled his head down to kiss him, prompting him to open his lips and tease her tongue with his. Robert ran a hand along her arm and her waist, then caressed her abdomen. He kept his hand there until her own hands snaked down to squeeze his buttocks, whence he groaned and kissed her even more passionately, twisting both hands into her hair as he shifted his body to cover hers.
Wrapping her legs around him, she urged him to continue, letting out a low moan as he entered her slowly, deliberately. Robert rocked against her, kissing down her throat and collar bone and then back up to her lips as she ran her fingers over his chest, tweaking his nipples gently, prompting more groans of pleasure.
Eventually their breathing became even heavier, and Cora arched her hips, encouraging him to thrust deeper. Robert complied not only to this silent request, but slid a hand between them, fondling her just above their joining. She gasped sharply, her eyes flying open. "My love, yes, my love," he whispered in her ear, wanting to feel her tighten around him, knowing he was close to his own climax.
Mere moments passed before her back arched up, pressing her body against his, a loud cry of ecstatic joy bursting from her lips. This was all it took to bring him spiraling with her into pure physical bliss. Careful not to collapse upon her, Robert hugged his wife to himself and rolled them over so she was atop him instead.
"Mmmmm…." she hummed, brushing her hair out of her face before resting her head on his chest and sighing happily.
Robert ran his hand along her back and kissed the top of her head. "Perhaps hiding chocolate cake in your bedside table drawer isn't such a bad idea after all."
Cora chuckled. "I'll remember you said that."
For a while, Violet enjoyed tea with her daughter. They spoke of London and fashions and Rosamund's trouble with servants. The cakes tasted particularly good today, and Violet served a new tea that proved most excellent.
Then Rosamund introduced the subject of Cora's pregnancy. Violet pursed her lips, becoming uncharacteristically quiet.
Rosamund slowly realized that she was the only one talking. "Mama, is there something wrong? It's not like you to have nothing to say on a subject. Is there a problem with this one?"
Violet poured herself more tea and said, "I don't know what you mean, Rosamund."
"Don't plead ignorance with me, Mama. You've been acting strangely for weeks. You barely speak to Robert, and I know you and Cora haven't always been the best of friends, but you've been colder to her than usual. Something is going on, and I'd like to know what." Rosamund fixed an unyielding gaze on her mother's face.
Violet rolled her eyes. "Rosamund, you're making a mountain out of a mole hill, as is your habit."
"I really don't think I am." She stared at Violet, who coolly ignored her, drinking her tea. "You disapprove of Cora and Robert having another baby, don't you?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Rosamund," Violet said. But she fidgeted ever so slightly and wouldn't meet her daughter's eyes.
"That's it, isn't it? You are upset that they would have the audacity to have a child. Let me guess: mostly because the question of inheritance has finally been settled and their having a son could throw a wrench in the entire business. Am I right?" Rosamund's eyes brightened and her voice grew louder.
Violet's head gave an involuntary, almost imperceptible, jerk to the side, and Rosamund knew she'd hit on something.
"Actually, I think you want there to be a son. If they're going to be so scandalous as to have a baby at their age, they'd better make the entire thing worth it, right? A direct Crawley heir at last."
Her mother continued to stare at the tea table, pursing her lips again.
Rosamund kept going, warming to her subject. "In fact, it's likely that you're more offended by the behavior in which they've so clearly engaged to have a baby in the first place." Rosamund's eyes grew wide as Violet finally looked up at her. "My God, Mama. You're jealous. Aren't you?"
Violet's hand had been tightening around the handle of her cane all during this speech. Finally, with a flash of motion, she struck it upon the floor. "That is enough!" she shouted, her face an alarming shade of purple. "What you're saying is utterly preposterous. And I refuse to listen to any more of it." Rising, and without even another glance at her daughter, she swept out of the room.
"Well," Rosamund said to herself, taking another sandwich and calmly eating it, "it seems I hit a nerve."
Meanwhile, the ladies calmly waited in the drawing room for the men to come in from the library, where they'd been working on estate business nearly the whole day. Mary stood by the window, looking out, her hands clasped behind her back. Edith sat on the settee near the chair her mother and Sybbie shared. Cora and Sybbie each had a tea cake in their hands, being unable to wait for the men to start. Edith handed Sybbie a cup of milk, the little girl insisting that she could hold it in one hand, unwilling to part with her tea cake.
"Alright, my dear, but you have to be careful. I'm sure Grandmama doesn't want milk spilled all over her." Edith grinned up at her mother.
Of course, the inevitable happened. Sybbie couldn't manage both and, while taking a large bite of cake, allowed the cup to tip forward, spilling milk over herself and Cora.
Sybbie's chin wobbled and she dropped her tea cake on the chair in upset. Edith came to the rescue, lifting her up out of the chair, careful not to get milk on herself. "Don't cry, darling. I'll get you cleaned up, and Grandmama can be changed in no time at all." Sybbie nodded and smiled, her unshed tears gleaming in her eyes.
Cora got up, too. "Mary, we'll be back in a little while."
Mary waved a hand over her shoulder. "Alright, Mama."
They ran into the three men just outside the doorway. Cora kissed Robert's cheek. "Just a little spilled milk, darling. We won't be long."
Tom dropped a kiss on the top of his daughter's head. "I see you have been at it again, my tiny colleen."
Sybbie put her hand on Edith's cheek. "Ann-ee-dit c'ean Sybbie, Papa," she informed him, nodding her head.
"Then you'll be fresh for tea in a trice, I'll wager." He gave a small wink to Edith and followed Matthew and Robert into the room while Cora, Edith, and Sybbie headed upstairs.
Matthew headed toward his wife, and Robert and Tom went to sit down. As Robert started to sit, Tom said, "Um, Robert –"
But it was too late. Robert stood again, having felt something squish against the back of his trousers. "What have I sat in?" He tried to see behind him, but of course he couldn't.
Tom did his best to hide his grin. "It's a tea cake."
Seizing a serviette from the tea trolley, Robert attempted to wipe the tea cake off his rear end, mumbling under his breath, "…leaving food all over…. We live in a bloody zoo, apparently…." Unable to get all of the icing off his trousers, he flung the serviette down on the trolley in vexation. "Cora," he muttered.
"Actually, that's probably Sybbie's, Robert," Tom said calmly. "When has Cora left a tea cake uneaten since being pregnant?" He hoped his father-in-law wouldn't take this the wrong way, as he knew Cora herself would probably laugh at the truth of it.
Robert sighed, pretending he hadn't heard that last remark. "I need a drink." He glanced over to his daughter and son-in-law, who were so deep in conversation they hadn't appeared to notice anything amiss. Running his hand over his forehead, he walked out of the room and back into the library. Not finding what he wanted out on the surface of the drinks cabinet, he opened it and bent down to reach in for a bottle… and came out with a plate of mince pies. "COOORRRRRAAAAA!" he howled, his face purpling.
It was only a few moments later when she walked in, her dress changed and her brows furrowed. "Why are you shouting? I could hear you from halfway up the stairs."
He'd located a bottle of Scotch and was pouring a liberal amount for himself. Cora noticed the back of his trousers.
"And what happened to your trousers?"
Robert turned, glass in hand. "Well, I found a plate of mince pies where there should have been a bottle of Scotch. And I sat on Sybbie's tea cake, which was left in a chair – also something that should not have been there. Not in that order." He knocked back most of the glass of Scotch.
Cora began to laugh, lifting both hands to cover her mouth when she saw his unamused expression. "I'm sorry, darling."
"I'm happy you find this humorous, Cora." He drained the rest of the glass and pivoted on his heel to pour a second.
Coming up behind him, Cora wrapped an arm around his waist. She turned a pouty face up to his and said, "I am sorry, Robert. Forgive me? Us? Sybbie didn't mean to leave a tea cake on the chair."
Robert felt his expression soften as he sipped the second Scotch. "And you? Did you mean to leave a plate of mince pies in my drinks cabinet?"
"I suppose I did. But I didn't mean for it to upset you. I'll try not to do it again, darling. Forgive me?"
She looked so pathetic with her head tilted up at him, her eyes wide and her bottom lip jutting out, that he laughed and slid an arm around her shoulders. "How could I not forgive you, sweetheart, when you look at me like that?"
A bright smile transformed her face. "Good. Now we can join the others." Taking a mince pie off the plate, she bit into it. "I'm famished." Patting the side of his bottom free of icing, she sashayed toward the library door, eating the rest of the mince pie.
Robert watched her in awe. Shaking his head and chuckling, he followed her out of the room, leaving the Scotch glass on the cabinet still half-full. "We live in a bloody circus, and none of the animals are trained. But they certainly know their tricks, don't they?" he muttered to himself.
The servants' ball opened as usual with Cora dancing with Carson, and Robert with Mrs. Hughes. Thomas stood in for Bates, partnering with Mary, and Matthew cheerfully guided Perkins around the floor. Tom led Anna, Jimmy took Edith's hand, and Molesley bumbled along with Isobel. Alfred had asked Violet for the pleasure, but she lifted her hand and declined – with thanks. For many years now she'd sat the first dance out, waiting for the second dance when Carson would always step up to her table with a bow. She would admit that she enjoyed this tradition of theirs.
However, as they always stood on ceremony – as was only proper – the butler and Countess shared the first dance. So Violet sat at a table, dressed in her finest plum velvet dress, and watched in silence as couples whirled gaily by. She noticed that Alfred, having been rebuffed by her, had partnered with Rosamund, and as they glided past her table, Violet quietly seethed over her daughter's words to her this afternoon. Jealous? Of Cora and Robert? How completely absurd! What was there to be jealous of? Their impropriety? Their complete lack of regard for their station in life? Ludicrous!
Lost in thought, she didn't see Carson until he was almost upon her, but as he approached her table and bowed, she managed to shake off her contemplations and smile. It truly was her favorite part of the evening, and she didn't want deleterious thoughts to ruin it.
For one dance, at least, Violet relaxed. Carson was an excellent dance partner, and a most proper and respectful one at that. By the end, she was winded, but happily so. He led her back to her table and bowed again, then went off to find Mrs. Hughes for the next dance.
Violet opened her fan, quite warm now. Her smile faded, however, when Rosamund sat next to her. "Having a nice time, Mama?" she asked brightly, as if afternoon tea had never happened.
"I was," Violet said pointedly, turning a scowl onto her daughter.
Rosamund pivoted in her chair a bit, more fully facing her mother. "Mama, why do you have to be so thoroughly unpleasant? You could enjoy yourself so much more if you just accepted things as they are." She stood. "However, if my presence is so odious to you, then I'll do you a favor and relieve you of it."
Violet watched her daughter leave. "Humph," she muttered, continuing to fan herself. Then her ears pricked up, a snatch of conversation falling upon them from nearby.
"Mary, it's stupid of you to continue this manner."
"Save your breath, Edith. I'm not discussing this – or anything else – with you."
Out of the corner of her eye, Violet observed the sisters standing in a shadowy corner, their stances hostile.
"I don't care if you don't wish to discuss it; I will continue to point out to you that the whole thing is stupid. Don't you realize all you have? Can't you be content with that? Besides, you don't know that Matthew won't inherit. It's just as likely that Mama will have a girl as a boy."
Violet tensed, holding her breath.
Mary rolled her eyes. "Oh, come off it, Edith. You have no stake in any of it. Either way, you lose nothing. And you gain nothing. So just run along and dally with your editor and write your purple prose."
At this, Edith slapped her sister soundly across the face. Mary put her hand over the place, her eyes wide with shock, her mouth gaping open. Violet glanced around, but apparently no one had seen or heard this but her.
"Don't ever speak to me like that again, Mary. I don't deserve it, nor will I tolerate it. You've been completely horrid to me for far too long, no matter how much I try to mend things between us. If you don't wish to accept my friendship, fine. But don't come knocking on my door if things go truly sour for you." She turned and took one step before swinging back around. "And if you ever do or say anything to make Mama feel bad about having another baby, the other side of your face will feel the same sting." She stomped off, leaving Mary clutching her cheek and staring.
Violet couldn't decide whether to pretend she didn't hear the argument or not. But as the minutes passed and Mary didn't move, she felt she had to do something. The girl couldn't stand there all night. Leaning on her cane, Violet walked the few steps over to Mary and wrapped her other arm about her waist, leading her over to the table. Mary sat as directed, her hand over her left cheek.
"Do you need ice, dear?" Violet asked gently.
Mary shook her head, staring down at the table. "Edith slapped me," she said, incredulous.
"Yes, I saw."
"You did?" Mary lifted her eyes to her grandmother's.
Violet nodded. "I heard too."
Mary took a deep breath and lowered her eyes again. "Oh."
Taking a sip of red wine, Violet waited.
"Granny?" Mary finally ventured. "Am I being selfish?"
Violet paused, taking another sip of wine so she could weigh her words very carefully. "Nothing in life is sure, Mary. And in the end, we don't always get our just desserts." She shrugged, her eyes wandering over to the dance floor, where her son and daughter-in-law danced together, separated more by her growing belly than by any true sense of propriety. Then she turned her eyes from their laughing, glowing faces and back to Mary. "No amount of resentment or jealousy or anger can change that. Perhaps you are being selfish; but it most likely hurts you more than it does anyone else."
Mary furrowed her brows. "Why do you say that?"
"Because, well, I don't know what's gone on between you and Edith, so I don't know about the rest, but she was right about one thing: you do have reasons to be content. And look around you." She waved her hand to indicate the room, alive with spinning couples and tables full of people drinking and laughing. "Instead of moping about an uncertain outcome, thinking about what should be yours, you could be dancing."
Lowering her hand to reveal a purpling bruise, Mary sighed. "I suppose you're right, Granny."
Pointing toward the other side of the room, where Matthew was obviously looking for his wife, Violet remarked, "I'm always right."
Watching Mary wind her way through the dancing couples, then embrace Matthew and have him lead her onto the floor, Violet heaved her own deep sigh. "Except when I'm wrong." Her eyes sought out her son and his wife. They sat alone together at one of the tables, holding hands and exchanging loving glances. Cora's other hand rested upon her baby bump, and as they talked together, Robert would sometimes let out a guffaw that reached his mother halfway across the room. Their eyes shone, and Violet smiled in spite of herself.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Cora began fanning herself vigorously. Robert said something to her and she nodded. He helped her up, and they went off in the direction of the library.
Troubled and somewhat curious, Violet got up and followed them. Their voices drifted to her from the open door.
"Is that better, darling?" Robert asked. "Here, let me find my newspaper…."
There was the clink of ice in a glass, then Cora's voice, a trifle out of breath. "Thank you, my dear."
Violet entered the room quietly. Cora sat on the settee with her eyes closed and held a glass of ice water to her face, which was flushed. Robert, having procured the paper, knelt in front of her, fanning her.
"Robert? Is she alright?"
He turned and looked at his mother, somewhat surprised to see genuine concern on her face after so much frosty treatment to both him and Cora over the past months. So surprised that he didn't reply.
"It's just a hot flash, Mama," Cora answered with a little smile.
"Why are you having a hot flush? I don't remember you having them before."
"Dr. Ryder said that because of my age, my pregnancy would probably be a bit more different than the others. It's quite normal, though." She paused to take another sip of water.
Robert took the opportunity to interject, "Not much different when you take into account your hiding food in all corners of the house."
Cora hit him on the arm. "You try being hungry at all hours."
"Darling, I was only teasing," he said, chuckling and continuing to fan her, causing her hair to ruffle slightly with each flick of his wrist. Cora grinned at him.
"Well," Violet said, "it was quite warm in there. I can imagine you might get hot anyway."
Robert stared at his mother in mild disbelief.
"We should be back in there in just a bit, Mama. They don't usually last too long," Cora informed her.
Violet nodded and turned to go, then paused. "I'd like to have both of you to tea at the Dower House tomorrow."
Robert stood and began to smile. "Save me a dance, Mama. I know you're beating them off with a stick, but –"
Rolling her eyes with a dismissive wave of her hand, Violet let out a "humph." But she allowed herself a little grin, answering, "Hurry up then. Before Molesley takes over the dance floor."
After she'd left, Robert leaned down and kissed Cora soundly on the lips. "What was that for, darling?"
"Do I need a reason to kiss my pretty wife?" he asked.
She smiled at him. "No, but if you keep that up, you'll need more than a newspaper and a glass of ice water to cool me off."
"Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?" Robert resumed his fanning.
"Not yet, anyway. We should at least wait until we're upstairs." Cora waggled her eyebrows at him.
"Oh, I'm looking forward to it, my dear. If it's anything like this morning…." Not able to help himself, he bent down and kissed her again, caressing her cheek. "Now, if you've cooled down enough, let's go back in. I'm not sure Mama was joking about Molesley taking over the dance floor."
Purple: "royalty, dignity, wisdom, luxury, passion, vision, nobility, ceremony, transformation, cruelty, arrogance"