AN: Please do not come after me with torches and pitchforks because this chapter is so short. :-) I thought this scene really should stand on its own. I promise that chapter 7 will be significantly longer (which also means that it may take me a few days to get it written and posted).

Her day was an odd mix of seeking out her husband and avoiding him. She could not be alone with him, nor did she much like to be in a room with him even with others present—it felt altogether too risky, and she worried that with every glance he would know there was something desperately wrong. It was easier to avoid him than it was to worry over the success of her performance.

And yet she wanted him nearby. She was always surrounded by staff or by family, and she knew intellectually that she was perfectly safe, but she felt safest when she knew Robert was a short walk away. And thus her afternoon was spent with a careful eye to his whereabouts so that she might remain a room or two away at all times.

It was easier with the children. She knew she must seem to be in something of a daze still, but they were consumed with their own business—sweet Rose, with her Atticus; Mary, with the new haircut that had so antagonized her sister; and Edith, with the grief over her lost love. She had tried to comfort Edith, but her younger daughter had seemed determined not to be soothed, and, Cora admitted to herself, she was hardly the one for cheering others at the moment.

Dinner with a new and unknown guest was something of a trial, even if Atticus and Rose had eyes only for each other, and she was exhausted as she climbed into bed later. But the evening was not over, she realized as she heard the door open before she could turn off the light.

Robert. And he would expect to sleep here.

"Mr. Aldridge seems a pleasant young man," he said as he removed his dressing gown. "And certainly quite taken with Rose."

"Yes."

"She's grown up quite a bit since her season."

"Yes."

"I imagine she's nearly ready to settle down."

She froze as he climbed into bed with her. She could not sleep with him so near. She wanted it, desperately, but he would know if he were that close to her, and suppose he tried to…

"Robert," she said, her eyes fixed straight ahead. "Would you…"

"What is it?" She could feel his eyes on her.

"Would you…" She trailed off again, not wanting to hurt him. Better hurt by feigned disinterest than by the truth, she thought. "I'd rather you slept in your dressing room."

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"Please. I'd rather you slept in your dressing room." Please don't argue with me.

"But why? Cora, what's been wrong with you these last two days?"

She closed her eyes. "I just…want you to go."

"I've slept next to you nearly every night for over thirty years. What's wrong now?"

"Maybe I just don't want to do it anymore."

"What?"

She could not look at him. She would not. "We're in our fifties. Don't you think it rather silly?" Her heart broke as she said it.

"Cora…" It was as though all the pain in the world were contained in the syllables.

"Please, Robert. I want you to go." She did not open her eyes, but after a moment she felt the mattress shift as he stood up. Then there were footsteps, and then the door clicked shut behind him.

She covered her mouth with her hands to block the noise of her sobs.