The train ride to London several days before could not have been more different from the train ride home. For one thing, Robert and Cora sat on a seat together, rather than on opposite sides of their private compartment, Robert's arm around her shoulders, unmindful of anyone who might happen to walk past and peek in their window. For another, the only silences were those when Robert would steal a cheeky kiss from his wife. The rest of the train ride, they leaned close to one another, talking, their fingers intertwined.
They'd spent an intimate evening together, having dinner sent up to them, as well as another bottle of champagne, then celebrated the rest of night until they were exhausted and fell asleep. When the next morning there was a hesitant knock on Cora's bedroom door, Robert merely chuckled, kissed his wife, resumed his night clothes and dressing gown, and let the maid in on his way to his own room. The morning passed all too quickly in packing and getting ready for their departure. Both were somewhat contemplative at luncheon, knowing it would probably their last alone together for a while.
But it was with a new sense of excitement that Robert helped Cora onto the train and settled them into their compartment. When he had first brought her to Downton to live, his mother had been the one to show her the house, the grounds, to begin imparting to her what it would mean to be the Countess of Grantham and the expectations she would have to live up to, to show her the duties and things necessary to carry out said duties, to impress upon her the form and function of Downton and its importance in the county. Now Robert was eager to show the woman he loved the Downton he loved. He wanted to take Cora to his favorite childhood haunts and show her where he and Rosamund had hidden from dreadful relatives when they would visit and his treasured places to sit and read. He couldn't wait to walk with her in the gardens and point out all the beauties of the grounds and estate, and tell her his memories of it, what he dreamed for its future. He longed to pull her into every room of the house and kiss her, to make every room theirs, the house their home and not just his, to demonstrate to her that he very much wanted her there with him, to live a splendid life together.
Robert was not fool enough to suppose that Cora would ever love Downton the way he did. Downton was in his blood and in his bones in a way Cora might never fully understand and certainly would never be able to feel. But Robert thought that perhaps, given time, he could get her to appreciate it and to love it as their home.
His excitement was infectious. Cora discovered that she was looking forward to finding her way around her new life again. She knew it wouldn't be easy; the realities of her chosen course that had manifested themselves to her in the past months were still there. But now…. In the book of her new life there had been a blank page she'd reserved just for Robert. Over the past month or so, she had begun to fear that it would remain blank forever. But now, written upon it were the last few days and his declaration of love. And so, whenever she felt the expectations and realities in the rest of the book threaten to overwhelm her, she could go back and read these beautiful things over and over.
And there would be so many new pages to add. She saw now that one blank page wouldn't be nearly enough to write in all the lovely things to come.
After the train ride spent talking, laughing, and kissing, the carriage brought them to the house, and they arrived in an almost jubilant mood. Footmen took their coats and hats, and the butler informed them that the family awaited them in the drawing room. Robert took Cora by the hand as they walked down the hall together.
An outcry from his mother met them at the door. "Robert! What in heaven's name…!"
They had forgotten about his black eye.
"Mama, don't fuss. It's nothing." Robert kissed his mother's cheek.
"Nothing? Robert Crawley, a black eye is not 'nothing'!" Violet examined his face. "How did it happen? Did you walk into a door? Did a horse kick you in the face?" Her tone was sarcastic.
Robert sighed, squeezing Cora's hand. "No. I was punched in the eye."
"I suppose this is the true reason you stayed in London another day? It wasn't Cora who needed rest, it was you who didn't want to face me! Well, what else can we expect? Letting an American into the family," Violet railed.
Cora shrank back during this speech. Patrick stood there with his head in his hands, as if he knew there was nothing he could do to stop his wife from saying what she would. Rosamund sat in a chair, watchful. And Cora could feel Robert's hand tighten around hers and his body stiffen as his mother continued: "Of course there will be brawls and shenanigans an Englishman – a Crawley! – would never imagine – "
"Mama!" Robert hadn't meant to shout, but he could bear it no longer. "I beg you will not talk about Cora as if she isn't in the room. I will also hasten to point out to you that everything you just said is wrong – in every particular!"
Violet stood there, mouth open in shock, staring at her son – her son who had never dared raise his voice to her, even during their most heated arguments. Cora gazed at Robert in wide-eyed, naked adoration. Patrick's head snapped up, looking at Robert with a mixture of awe and confusion that he would speak to his mother thus, to defend his wife so vehemently. Rosamund's visage remained unchanged, save the twitching at the corners of her mouth.
Robert guided Cora to a chair and stood beside it, still holding her hand. "If you had asked me, I would have told you, Mama. Cora was in our suite yesterday, resting, as I requested her to do after she had swooned at Lady Margaret's ball the night before. It was whilst she was resting and I was out that a man – I hesitate to call him a gentleman, although I suppose in the strictest sense he is – taunted me, and when I turned to give him what for, he punched me in the eye. I will have you know, Mama, that it was neither a brawl nor were there any shenanigans. And he was an Englishman. It had nothing to do with Cora." He knew this last part was an equivocation, but he refused to tell his mother about the part that did involve Cora.
During this speech, Violet had made her way to a chair, still staring at her son, more convinced than ever that something had gotten into him.
"Now, if we may continue, I'd like to greet my father and sister." Robert let Cora's hand go in order to shake hands with his father.
Patrick raised his eyebrows at the hand Robert extended to him. "Son? Are you sure there wasn't a brawl?" Taking his son's hand to shake it, he turned it so he could better see the bruises on his knuckles and fingers.
Another thing Robert had forgotten.
"Oh, right. That." He pulled his hand from his father's grasp and walked over to Rosamund, bending down to kiss her cheek before sitting in the chair next to Cora's and taking her hand again after she, too, had greeted everyone.
Patrick poured himself a drink and sat down. "Yes. That," he said.
Robert looked sheepish. "Well, that was a separate incident." He cleared his throat and looked at Cora, whose smile seemed to be somewhat pained.
"That may have been my fault," Cora admitted, pressing her husband's hand.
Violet rolled her eyes. "Humph," she exhaled, as if to say, "See? What did I tell you?"
But Robert would have none of that. "No, Cora. It was not your fault. It was his. And mine, for letting my temper get the better of me. I shouldn't have punched the fellow."
"I can't hear any more of this," Violet said, standing abruptly. "I'll see you at dinner." Without another word, she marched out of the room.
Patrick spared only a glance for her retreating form. He was too used to his wife's ways to be surprised by her action. He simply wondered that she'd stayed quite so long. Turning back to Robert, he asked, "Do I really want to hear any more of the story, son?"
Shaking his head, Robert chuckled. "I don't think so, Papa. It's better left untold, I believe." He glanced at Cora, who lowered her lashes and blushed.
Seeing his daughter-in-law's reaction, Patrick decided he wouldn't risk embarrassing her further by pressing for details of what must be a very interesting story. "Just one question, Robert. Is the man who hit you yesterday the same as the one you punched?"
Robert nodded. "The very same, sir."
"Yes, a very interesting story indeed..." Patrick mumbled to himself as he drained his glass.
"Well, if you will excuse us, Rosamund, Papa – Cora and I had a long trip, and I think we could both use some rest before dinner," Robert announced.
"Sure, sure," Patrick said, nodding and waving a hand at them absently.
"See you at dinner, you two," said Rosamund, her eyes a little bit mischievous and fixing Robert with a look that meant he would have to tell her the whole story later.
Once upstairs, Robert went into his bedroom and Cora into hers. Robert waited for a while, in hopes that it was long enough for her lady's maid to have been and gone, then knocked lightly at the door that divided their apartments.
Obtaining her consent to enter, Robert opened the door and smiled at his wife, who was lounging on her chaise in the corner of the room. Gently pulling the book she'd been reading out of her grasp, he brought one of her hands to his lips and kissed it.
Cora smiled back at him, whispering, "My hero."
"Oh, Cora, that's done," he said modestly.
Laughing softly, Cora corrected his misapprehension. "I meant your mother, darling. That was quite a show. I'm not sure she'll ever forgive you for it." She stood in order to properly express her gratitude with a long, tender kiss, her hand stroking the hair at the nape of his neck.
Robert grinned after she'd ended the kiss. "Are you tired?"
Continuing to run her fingers through his hair, Cora shook her head, keeping her eyes on his. "No. I'm not tired at all." She leaned up and whispered in his ear, "We've still some time before the dressing gong, Robert."
Needing no more encouragement, Robert bent his head to kiss her neck and began working the fastenings on her tea gown. He'd gotten quite adept at ridding her of this particular type of garment without ripping it, he thought.
A little while later, Rosamund, walking by Cora's bedroom on the way to her own room, heard what sounded like stifled cries and high-pitched noises through her sister-in-law's door. Smirking, she sauntered on by.
Cora was the last to appear in the drawing room before dinner that night. Violet seemed to have decided she wasn't speaking to any of them, ensconcing herself in her chair and staring straight ahead, her expression sour. Patrick, Rosamund, and Robert ignored her, accustomed as they were to her moods and fits of pique, the three sitting together and chatting about the estate, Rosamund's new beau, and the parts of the trip to London Robert felt he could disclose without embarrassment to either himself or his wife.
When Cora entered, Robert's eye was immediately drawn to her and a smile wreathed his countenance. Rosamund's eye was drawn not to Cora but to her brother. Patrick was still speaking, unaware that Cora had entered or that neither of his offspring was listening to him anymore.
Cora, her own eyes having automatically rested on her husband's face, met his smile with one of her own. She'd taken great pains that night to look just right – even more pains than she had in London, for she knew no one scrutinized her more than his mother. And after their familial meeting this afternoon…. Well, she knew she needed to redouble her efforts where her mother-in-law was concerned.
"Robert? Robert, are you even listening? I was asking you a question." Patrick sounded slightly annoyed, so Robert turned his attention back to him.
"Sorry, Papa. My mind wandered for a moment." Catching Rosamund's eye, he grinned faintly.
"I'll wager it did, brother," Rosamund remarked, one eyebrow raised, but also grinning. "Excuse me, if you will. I'll go keep Cora company. I don't think she'll get any more conversation from Mama than we have." She touched her brother's hand briefly as she left them, gliding over to join Cora.
Very soon dinner was announced and the family made its way toward the dining room. Robert held Cora back to walk behind the others, whispering, "You look beautiful, darling."
Cora blushed, looking down at her dress, smoothing her gloved hands over the emerald green scarf that she'd fixed into a kind of sash around her waist – a secret message just for him.
Walking closer to her, he whispered again, "The earrings suit you, although they aren't nearly so fine as the ears they adorn." She was also wearing the scarab earrings he'd bought her. He lowered his voice even more, "And green is a particularly lovely color for you, Cora," he said, tacitly acknowledging the scarf-turned-sash, causing Cora to blush harder, grinning, unable to speak.
Just before they parted to take their seats at the table, Robert whispered one more thing to her, "I do hope your corset isn't too tight, my dear. You need to eat…to keep your strength up…for later…."
Giving her a tiny wink with his good eye, Robert stood behind his chair, waiting with his father for the ladies to sit first. Cora looked up at him through her lashes, unable to hide her smile or her reddened cheeks.
Violet looked from one to the other of them and rolled her eyes. Dear God, she thought, I don't know if I can stay in the same room with these two making eyes at one another like this. Then it hit her. His odd behavior. Staying extra nights in London. His shouting at her, defending Cora. His holding his wife's hand this afternoon, and the way he looked at her when she'd entered the drawing room just a while ago (this, of course, not having escaped Violet's notice – rarely did anything escape her notice), their making eyes at each other across the table….
Robert had fallen for the American.
Violet nearly gasped at the realization, looking up from her plate to glance from one to the other again. Cora could hardly eat for smiling so much, and Violet had never seen her son look at anyone the way he looked at his wife. He looked…lovestruck.
Perhaps it was for the better. Violet knew that Robert had to marry an heiress to save Downton, and it had pained her that he would have to marry for that reason over all others. She did know that the heart did not exist for the sole purpose of pumping blood, and she did want her son to be happy. And now he could be. Because she discerned it was love and not just a passing infatuation for his wife inspired by a trip they'd taken on a whim. She knew because the way he was looking at Cora was the same way that Patrick used to look at her when they were younger.
And still did on occasion, truth be told. Violet tore her eyes from her son and his wife and turned her gaze upon her own husband, her face softening a trifle. When Patrick lifted his head to take a drink of wine, he noticed his wife's expression and smiled at her, hoping that this meant she had forgotten her irritation with her family. She smiled back at him, causing him to unknowingly emulate his son's lovestruck look. Violet blushed slightly, pleased.
Rosamund glanced from one to the other of her family and rolled her eyes at all of them. However, she chuckled to herself, reaching for her glass and toasting her own guile and perception. Her plan had clearly worked.
When they had finished dinner, the ladies walked back to the drawing room while Robert and Patrick stayed behind for a brandy.
Patrick lit his pipe and puffed upon it for a few moments before addressing his son. "You really aren't going to tell me what happened in London? The cause of that?" He pointed at Robert's black eye with the stem of his pipe.
Robert put his brandy on the table, slowly rotating the glass and staring down at it. "I'm not sure I should, Papa. I think it would embarrass Cora if I told you."
"You've grown quite protective of her." Patrick said this as though it were a revelation to him. His son glanced up at him, and Patrick went on to say around the stem of the pipe, "Might I hazard a guess that that very impulse had something to do with the bruised hand and black eye?"
Nodding and looking his father straight in the eye, Robert replied, "It had everything to do with it, sir."
A smile crossed Patrick's face. "Then that's all I need to know." Taking the pipe out of his mouth, he leaned forward, reached around, and clapped Robert on the back several times. "Welcome to the club, son."
Picking up his brandy glass, Robert looked at him in some confusion. "The club?"
Patrick's smile grew wider. "Yes. The club where you love your wife and would do anything – anything – to protect her and her honor."
Robert grinned. "Is it that obvious, Papa?"
"Plain as the nose on your face. Or, to put it more aptly, as plain as that black eye." Putting the pipe back in his mouth, he puffed a few more times, then chuckled and said, "I punched a man because of your mother once."
Nearly choking on the brandy he'd just drunk, Robert sputtered and coughed. "Pardon?"
"She never told you that story, did she?" Chuckling again, Patrick removed the pipe to take a sip of his own brandy. "Well, I won't go into the whole thing, but, really, some things should never be said to a lady. Fellow learned his lesson, I'll bet. Knocked him flat."
Robert had another sip of brandy before remarking, "Mama seems to have conveniently forgotten this then, since she was so adamant earlier about my 'brawling' being because of Cora and her 'Americanness.'"
"Oh, son, you know your mother."
"Yes, Papa, I do. And she seems bent upon making Cora feel like an outsider for as long as possible. I wish she wouldn't." Finishing his brandy, Robert put his glass on the table once more. "Shall we go through?"
Patrick nodded and stood, taking a last drink and knocking his pipe out into the ash receptacle before replacing it in his jacket pocket. "Do me one favor, Robert."
"What's that, Papa?" Robert paused before the door, turning to look at his father.
His face completely serious, Patrick answered, "Don't punch your mother."
Robert wasn't sure whether to be shocked or offended. When Patrick began to laugh at the expression on his son's face, Robert knew he should be neither. He simply rolled his eyes. "Sometimes you have the most appalling sense of humor, Papa."