She felt guilty for it, but she couldn't help a visceral rush of relief at knowing that the person now taken from this world wasn't one of their own family. She had no ill will towards anyone at all, let alone one of her acquaintance, but they'd already been through so much as a family. Sometimes she still had days where she wasn't sure she could get out of bed, knowing that her precious baby had died in a room just a few doors down the hall, or that her eldest daughter's husband would never get to truly know the beautiful son beginning to charm the entire household with his smiles, or that her middle child faced a life of endless questions as she raised her daughter under an adopted identity. And then there was all she and Robert had been through together as a couple . . . sometimes it seemed all too much.

She'd met Howard and his charming wife only a few times in London, but he'd been a longtime friend of Robert's as they'd attended university together and fought side by side in the Boer War. She and Robert had talked briefly about visiting him and his wife on the hypothetical holiday they'd always imagined the two of them taking once the children were grown. But as tragedy after tragedy had seemed to strike at them, neither found themselves truly able to consider leaving Downton for a long period of time. She secretly hoped they might still one day take another trip - a second honeymoon of sorts. It didn't matter where, as long as they could be together and leave the worries and stress of managing the estate behind for even a little while. She'd imagined Paris, Venice, America, but even a few weeks driving through England to visit friends would be marvelous. But it seemed now there was one less person to visit.

Robert rarely talked about his time during the War. Whenever he'd been granted leave, his visits had been brief and filled with family and estate business during the day and holding each other tightly at night. And after they'd made love - urgently at first and then tenderly again - she tried to speak with him about Africa, anxious to help relieve him of the worry she could clearly see written across his features whenever he didn't think she was looking. But he would either shush her and beg her to tell him more about what he'd missed with the children at happenings at Downton, Mama's meddling, Rosamund's parties, anything - anxious for normal conversation. Or, more often than not, he'd brush her hair back from her face, give a quick shake of his head, and pull her body to him again.

But whenever he did speak of it, in halting words and sentences, shaking as he fought the fear of his memories, or simply unsure how much to reveal so as to not frighten her, his stories would nearly always mention Howard. They had bonded over raising small children, and the pain of being away from their families for so long, congratulating each other when one received a letter from home. Howard had been a stand-up chap, and a brave soldier, according to Robert. She could tell by the fond memories and accolades he gave that he really admired and respected his friend, and they'd corresponded often in the years after the war. She was sure his outstanding character and leadership would be missed by many. She spared a thought for his poor wife before thinking again of her husband's pain.

"Oh, my dear," she whispered, angling her head back a bit to kiss his cheek and look at him. "I'm so sorry. I know he was such a good friend to you."

"He certainly was. The funeral is Tuesday next."

"And of course we will go. I'll make the arrangements. I don't want you to worry about a thing."

He nodded mutely, his eyes far away. She longed to comfort him, to hold him in her arms like she could with their daughters when they were young, like she did with their grandchildren now, and promise that everything would be all right, that she would always be there to help him through whatever came their way.

She kissed his cheek again and looked over his shoulder. "So you came to see another good friend to think about Howard?"

He turned to look at the old tree, it's twisted trunk, it's shady branches that leaned over a small mound of earth with a simple headstone with a few dried flowers upon it that read "Isis - Beloved Companion."

"Do you know," he began, and then quickly cleared his throat to continue. "Do you know, sitting at my desk, I sometimes still reach out my hand for her, and have to remind myself she's not there? I miss her terribly. I suppose that's rather foolish of me. A grown man missing a dog."

"Of course not! We all miss her, dearest. But I know you miss her dreadfully so." She reached up a hand to his cheek and he startled at her touch.

"Cora, darling, you're still quite cold! I'm certain you should go inside at once."

"But are you going inside?" she asked softly. "Because if you're not, and if it would help you to have me, I'd prefer to stay with you. And I don't mind the cold so much when you're holding me." She smiled gently at him, and the softening in his eyes at her bold statement told her he wanted her to stay with him, even if he never would have asked.

"If you're sure."

When she nodded, he turned her with him to walk back to the bench where he'd been sitting when she'd found him. Sitting down upon it, he held his arms open to her and she gladly curled into his lap as he tucked the blanket in around her. She smiled as he wrapped her ankles with the blanket, gentle as always, before pulling her close again in his arms.

"Is that better?" he asked.

"Much better, Robert. Thank you." She snuggled into his chest, sneaking her right hand to unbutton his jacket and place her palm over his heart, unable to stop herself from wanting to feel the steady rhythm of it and the heat of his chest for just a moment. "I don't know the last time you've held me like this outside our bedroom," she added, pulling her hand out of his jacket to wrap more comfortably around his waist.

"Too long then, I guess."

"Well then I think we should start taking some advantages with all these modern times the children are enjoying. I rather like being close to you like this," she teased, kissing his cheek. She pulled back, expecting to see a smile on his face, but he was looking at her with an expression of profound sadness.

She studied him for a moment while his eyes traveled over her face, still not speaking. "Robert . . . I feel terrible about Howard, terrible for you - but is there something else that's bothering you, darling? Your doctor's appointment . . ." she trailed off, hoping he would shake his head and assure her that all was well.

He took a deep breath, looking away from her toward the tree, sighing heavily. "The appointment was fine, he will call in a few weeks time. No, it's not that. It's just . . ." his voice trailed off, and Cora gripped him more tightly to her, her left hand winding up his neck to thread her fingers through his hair there. He leaned appreciatively into her touch.

"What, sweetheart? Please tell me," she asked.

He continued staring straight ahead, beginning slowly, "My father died rather sooner than we'd expected, certainly a lot sooner than we would have liked. God - everything seemed like it was falling to pieces at the time, didn't it? But darling we're both older than my father was when he left this world." He paused to take a deep breath, still unable to look at her. "And I was reminded today, receiving this telegram about Howard; Mama once said that this age that we are at, a bit older than she was when Papa died, is the 'funeral season' of our lives. She faced it alone. You didn't know her quite well then, and rightfully so, for she was rather dreadful to you in the beginning of our marriage, and I'm always terribly sorry about her behavior," Cora tucked a quick smile into her chest before kissing him quickly on the cheek in acceptance of the apology he never seemed to stop giving her for the beginning of their lives together. "But the thing is . . . once Papa died . . . she was so changed, so different. So incredibly sad. It's been thirty odd years without him now."

She unconsciously gripped him tighter in his arms, able to follow his train of thought quite easily before he even continued.

"It's just . . . Howard was in perfect health, as far as I know. But we're getting on in years, you and I, and I'm . . . this thing in my chest and in my tummy, the pains I sometimes feel . . . and I am not sure . . . I'm simply not sure that I've . . . " his voice trailed off, and his eyes closed against the unwanted emotions he was feeling.

Her heart hurt deeply for her husband, because she knew how he was feeling. And while she was sure that despite her warning, Violet Crawley would outlive them all, it was a painful thing to reach the age where one's children didn't seem to need one as much, and one had no true occupation to pass the time anymore. And with this news of his friend passing, Robert seemed to be truly facing his mortality for the first time. Her own mother lived on across the pond in America, and it stunned Cora to realize that it must be nearly thirty years that her mother had been a widow as well. She shivered involuntarily and stroked the hair of her very much alive husband as he took another breath and continued.

"I'm just not sure I've done enough. I'm not sure I've been enough." His voice shook as he added in a small voice. "And it terrifies me to think of leaving Downton, even more to think of leaving you alone as my mother has been alone. And to leave our girls and our grandchildren, of course."

He paused for a moment before looking her in the eye. "And Cora - it hurts even worse to think that one day you might leave me."