Sir Richard rises early, as is his custom. He slowly sips his tea in the drawing room, ignoring the disapproving frowns of the servants scuttling round him. He looks at his surroundings afresh. Beneath the grand chandeliers, portraits and heirlooms accumulated over centuries, he sees comfortable sofas, solid furniture and colourful flowers. He smiles fondly, recalling the Countess' words from last night.

He strolls into the dining room, disappointed to find the Earl sat alone reading his correspondence. Mary has left him alone yet again.

When the Earl pays him no attention, he sullenly gets the morning papers out, glancing at each headline with indifference. "I see the peace conference has started."

"Hmm." The Earl doesn't look up. Richard abandons the attempt at conversation; the uncomfortable silence between them is broken only when he turns each page of the newspaper.

The tension is relieved by the Countess - Cora's - arrival. She flicks through the letters in front of her without sitting down. He keeps his eyes down on his newspaper, listening with curiosity to the conversation between husband and wife.

First, idle chatter about maids which her husband clearly is not listening to-

"Why are you up so early?"

"I'm meeting Isobel," she replies cheerfully. "She wants me to help with her refugees."

"I thought the whole point of Mama arranging that was to keep her out of your hair."

"I know. But now the soldiers have gone, I do have a lot of time on my hands and maybe I can be useful."

Richard nods in approval, recognising her need to keep busy and focused. She has found a new purpose - a purpose which is entirely lost on her husband:

"Why is it different from before the war?"

"I don't know exactly. It just is. Maybe the war's changed me. I guess it's changed everybody."

"Not me."

No, he hasn't changed, he's just stopped wearing a military uniform. Richard languidly turns the page of the newspaper, pretending to study the text.

"Don't be too sure." She pecks her husband's cheek and pats his back - the fond way you would treat a child or a family pet. Richard smirks into his newspaper. "If I'm not back before luncheon, don't wait."

He thoughtfully watches her leave. She is an intelligent woman; a woman in need of a purpose; a woman who has clearly outgrown her husband.

A woman who interests him more with every visit.

Cora sits glumly at her dressing table, her optimism and cheerfulness from this morning all but vanished. She has discovered the local refugee charity expertly marshalled by Isobel Crawley, a woman who has exhausted Cora's patience today with her endless interference. Why can't that woman trust people to get on with a job?

"...so I don't think I'm really needed. I'll find something else to do," she finishes her brief account of the day. Her new maid merely smiles slightly in the mirror.

She already misses O'Brien. If O'Brien were here, she would have cheered her up by now with gossip from the Servants' Hall or a witty observation concerning Mrs Crawley. Cora consoles herself that O'Brien will only be gone a week. And she can hardly begrudge her maid time to attend a funeral.

She looks at O'Brien's replacement in the mirror, standing uncertainly behind her. Suppressing a sigh, she reaches for the correct jewellery and passes it back to her.

Maybe she shouldn't have changed the arrangements this morning - Anna would undoubtedly have been a better choice of lady's maid. But however professional Anna is, it would have been an awkward week for both of them - Cora had made her disapproval of Bates rather too clear recently.

She watches in the mirror, noting the nervous concentration as the new maid fastens the clasp of the necklace. This woman is more than competent; it's not her fault she doesn't know her mistress' routine or where things are kept. She's hardly been given time to learn.

Cora smiles warmly, searching for some kind of conversation to ease the painful tension.

"It must be nice to be so close to home," she starts with the sort of open-ended statement which most people respond to enthusiastically.

A brief nod, a mumbled "milady". Cora tries again:

"And you have a child?"

"Yes, but he's old enough to look after himself now, and my mother can..."

"It's alright." Once again, Cora tries to sound encouraging. "What's his name?"

"Freddie, milady."

The door opens behind them. Cora turns round in relief, glad to end the awkward conversation. "Hello, darl-"

She just sees Robert's back as he abruptly leaves the room again, shutting the door with a faint bang. She stares at the closed door in bewilderment.

"Thank you, Jane. I can manage," she murmurs. She glances at the maid briefly, noticing the flush to her cheeks. Cora rolls her eyes in exasperation, once more mourning O'Brien's absence.

It's going to be a long week.

A/N: So...Disappointing? Surprising? Credible?

I was going to do Robert's POV as well, but thought that would spoil the narrative and is probably best left to the imagination!

I have a BIG work deadline for 26th March. Although the next chapter (title will give too much away - but it will be entirely Cora-centric) will also be relatively short, it's unlikely I will be able to post it until after the 26th.

Sorry to keep you guessing. I hope it will be worth the wait - I should be able to post fairly regularly afterwards.