Chapter Fifteen

December 1890

Robert looked over the little dark blue bottle and angled it up to the light, squinting. "I can't quite make it out. Elixir No. 1?" He angled it again toward her windows, the gray glare of December glancing strangely off the cobalt blue glass. "Does it say Caswell–"

"Oh! That's my Caswell-Massey," he heard from behind him, and he turned and looked at Cora in her bed. White nightgown beneath her thick pink housecoat, mess of curls tied in a red ribbon at her shoulder, he watched her as she slipped the fork in then out of her mouth and chewed. "But Harrods won't have that, I'm afraid. Mother sends it. No," she let her fork scoop another helping of eggs. "You'll need to get a Guerlain."

"Ah," Robert set the perfume down upon her dressing table and picked up his pocket notebook again, walking toward her, and tried his best to write out the name as she had said it. He sat on the bed as she ate another bite. "Any particular one?"

"Mm," she nodded and swallowed. "I did want to try the … oh what was it? The one Rosamund had on when she was here. I had asked her. It was much softer than I usually wear…sweeter…more lavender. Oh dear, what was it?"

He watched as she pressed her forehead and then looked up at him with furrowed brow. But he only blinked. "I certainly don't know."

She let her shoulders slump. "Oh, very well," she sighed and then grinned. "I'll let you decide." And just as she reached for her teacup, Cora startled. "Oh!"

Robert, a little startled himself, watched as she twisted to her bedside table, to the little folded paper there, and took it into her hands.

"I know it's still early, but these things are important."

Names, he knew immediately by the small, timid smile she wore, and adjusted his seat upon the mattress. "Cora—"

"—Oh please don't tell me you agree with Mother."

"How can I possibly say whether I do or do not if I don't know what she believes?"

"Mother wrote that it is bad luck to discuss such things before the birth, but I don't believe in silly superstitions."

"I do, a bit," he admitted.

She rolled her eyes playfully. "Of course you do. Now then. Would you rather I read them aloud or do you want to read them on your own?"

He held out his hand, "Since it appears I have little choice in the matter…"

With a gleeful smirk, she extended the paper to him.

It had been written on stationary with their joined monograms — an intertwined C and R — and in the morning light, Robert could see the heavy press of the stamp that had inked the crest in the top center.

He wet his lips, glanced up at his wife's hopeful gaze, and looked at the handwriting he'd memorized months and months ago. "Edwin…Caspar," he read aloud, and then he felt himself make a face, "I'm not sure I care for Reuben."

"Oh? Is there a reason why not?"

He blinked. "Well, is it very dignified?"

"I think so," her dark brows drew close. "It's Biblical, isn't it? Meaning 'behold, a son'? I thought you'd like such a name."

"Yes," Robert nodded. "It is Biblical. And whilst being the eldest son of the patriarch Jacob, he is disinherited."

She sighed. "Well, besides that, we both like Sir Rubens' art."

"You more so than I," he looked back at the list. "Too fleshy."

She snorted.

"No. It isn't a bad name," he conceded, "but certainly not something more solid, like George or Benedict."

"Benedict?" It was her turn to blink at him. "As in Arnold?"

He tipped his head. "Hmm," he pretended. "Not a bad idea, that. Mama would approve."

She laughed and his heart quickened. "She would, indeed. But then, of course Robert is there. Very solid and dignified. She would approve of that, I believe."

"So I see." He looked at her quickly and grinned. He glanced at the other column, the one labeled 'girl' and skimmed a few — Cecily, Eleanor, and he smiled at Josephine.

"Josephine is rather nice," he said softly, and then smiled again. "Like your Josephine March?"

"I was thinking of your grandmother. Though, to be honest, Jo March may have helped its cause." With that, she lifted her teacup and sipped from it as Robert chuckled.

"You've given me much to think on, though I still say it's quite early days. We still have six months before it comes." He folded the paper and, without much thought, slipped it and the little notebook into his coat pocket. "I'm much more content waiting for the Christening before we decide anything."

She narrowed her eyes and lifted her fork again. "Very well, I suppose we can wait a little while longer."

"You seem to be hungrier this morning," he observed, reaching for a triangle of her toast. "And brighter."

"I am," and she smiled. "I noticed yesterday that the mere sight of eggs no longer throws me onto tossing seas." She scraped against her plate. "Nor are my breasts quite as sore."

Choking on the bite of toast he'd stolen, Robert felt his face go hot. "Cora–" but she was smiling down into her breakfast, gathering another bite, completely oblivious to his discomfort.

"Perhaps I'm getting rather good at it," she lifted the fork to her mouth. "At being pregnant."

He couldn't help but laugh at her then, though it wasn't from amusement. Not solely. His chest felt too warm from the rosy look she wore, her grin as she ate the last of her eggs, and then as she sighed and leaned against her headboard as she chewed. Dropping her fork. Letting her hands rest on her still-flat middle.

"Of course you are," he said quietly after a moment. "You are rather good at most things."

This time she laughed too and tipped her head along the headboard, a dark curl sticking to the fabric there. "I'm not entirely sure I agree, but I like you for saying it." And then, moving her feet beneath the covers near his hip, she pouted. "I can cable the shopping list to Grantham House, have one of the maids order it all if you aren't sure."

But Robert stopped her. "I'm sure, Cora. It'll give me something to do while Papa is doing whatever he does at the Lords."

"But you dislike shopping," she argued. "You could go to the club or to see Marmaduke, and I hate to bother Rosamund…"

Again he stopped her, though this time by his laughter. "I'm sure Rosamund will be delighted to order the lace samples and wallpaper booklets for the nursery. And as for spending time with Marmaduke," he smirked. "I'd much rather spend my time choosing a scent for my wife."

With this he succeeded in making her smile again, and he warmed at the blush that colored the swell of her cheeks.

"I will miss you," she said softly.

He lifted his chin, and blinking, echoed, "And I, you."

Robert didn't expect her burst of laughter at this. "You needn't sound so surprised!" She was shaking her head, but smiling, he noted. Smiling. "Or alarmed? Afraid? What is it? Did you not expect to miss me?"

"No, no," he tried laughing a little and reached out for her hand. "It isn't unexpected."

"And yet you can hardly believe it?"

"Cora, it isn't that at all." Her hand was soft in his and warm. He looked at their hands, joined, lying on the peachy duvet of her bed, beside the wooden leg of her breakfast tray, and he smiled. He let his thumb stroke the back of her hand once. "It's only," he answered when at last he could give that feeling in his chest a voice. "I do love you so."

He delighted in the way she squeezed his hand, her eyes looking into her lap. "Oh, darling," he heard her whisper between them. Her hand squeezed tighter. "You mustn't say that unless you really mean it."

It felt almost as if the feeling that had warmed him all over only moments before stiffened behind his ribs, aching. "What?" He blinked at her again, but this time in confusion. "Don't you believe that I do?"

But Cora only sighed, the exhale curling the left corner of her mouth into a lopsided grin. "I believe you're happy. And I'm happy. And that's more than enough, isn't it?"

Before he could press her, before he could assure her that he did love her — for God in Heaven, he felt as if the beat of his heart grew weaker every step he took away from her — he felt the tender way she grasped again at his hand.

"What time is your train?"

"Oh," he sniffed a little and pulled at his pocket watch. "At half past nine. I'd better make a start."

"I wish you'd let me come and see you off. I'm sure Perkins could dress me very quickly."

"No," he smiled and stood, replacing the watch in his waistcoat pocket. "I'd rather think of you warm in bed than bundled up at the station."

He chuckled at the way she rolled her eyes. "I've been cold before, Robert. But if you insist—"

"I do." Here, he bent and pressed his lips to her temple. And then, when she angled her chin higher, he pressed them to the warmth of her lips and lingered there a moment.

When he pulled away at last, he saw that Cora looked up at him in such a way that it made him want to gather her up in his arms and forget he ever told his papa he'd go along to London.

"I'll write to you. Send you cables."

She scoffed. "We've been farther apart before, you know? The entire six months of our engagement."

"I know," he agreed, but added silently "but I hadn't loved you then." How had he never loved her?

"Then go on. Or your mother will blame your tardiness on me."

He laughed. She was right.

. . .

Robert rolled the blotter against the letter he'd finished – some business Papa had asked for him to complete regarding one of the tenant's cottages – and glanced up and out of the window. It was dark and Robert narrowed his eyes, fumbling for his pocket watch. It could be ten or two, but he wouldn't be able to tell by the sun which had not decided to shine for even a moment since they'd arrived two nights before. The second hand rounded the 12-mark: three in the afternoon. If this was to be sent in the afternoon post, Robert had to address it quickly. He shuffled through the papers his father had stacked on the corner of the desk, and not finding the thick card of the accountant, opened his coat to finger his inside pocket for the small notebook where he kept his lists.

Robert looked up at the opening of the door. "Oh, Papa. I'm surprised to see you here so early."

"Yes," Patrick, holding a small package, walked to the fireplace and pulled the bellpull that hung alongside it. "Much too cold. We were dismissed early."

Robert hummed. "If it's cold here, I can't bear to think of Downton now," he took his notebook out, and found where he had scribbled the man's address. "I wonder if it's snowed."

"Yes. I wonder. It's quite cold enough."

Robert nodded at last at the package his father now walked across the room with. "Something for Mama?"

"No, in fact." Papa slid the package onto the tabletop and opened the case in which he kept his pipe tobacco. "Something for Cora."

"Cora?"

He glanced up at Robert between packing his pipe. "Oh, well, rather the child. It's a riding crop."

Robert could only stare. "For the baby?"

"Yes," Papa chuckled. "It was rather endearing there in the display. Small, miniature thing. Of course it's only for pretend play — Ah, Carson."

The under butler lifted his chin in attention. "We'll have some tea. And will you please take this down to pack with the packages for home?"

"Very good, my lord."

"But isn't it very, premature, Papa? To be going on this way."

To his surprise, Patrick looked at him in a way he hadn't since he'd been small, with a certain softness about his features. He walked towards Robert, and pulled his pipe from his mouth.

"My dearest chap, you may enjoy it," he tilted his chin down to look at Robert more closely. "It is permitted, and by all means earned."

"It?"

"Expecting your first child." The gentle way Papa spoke stirred up a tight knot in Robert's chest. He found he immediately pictured Cora pressing her nightgown against the plateau of her middle. "It isn't wrong, what you've done. Especially now if you say you, well...that your feelings for her have changed?"

He nodded dumbly.

"Then what is it? Does it not also come as a sort of relief?"

What was he feeling, indeed? "Yes. It does, in a way. But then in another way I feel ... well, it feels as if it's all imagined. If I dare to reach out to touch it, it'll turn to dust."

His father furrowed his brow. "Oh, my son. You must try to read far fewer novels. Hmm? It's real. You've done what you set out to do. You are entitled to take pride."

"Oh," he heard himself mumble as his father patted his shoulder and turned.

"Now I must move on. We're off to your sister and Painswick's for dinner." Robert looked up as Papa strode across the room, puffs of smoke trailing behind him like a steam engine. "And I'd rather like a nice thawing bath before we go."

. . .

Robert followed his sister into the sitting room of her new house in Chester Square. It wasn't exactly what she had been after, she had told him a year ago when they'd bought the place, but it would do for now.

He laughed in his throat as he thought of that now, for it had been decorated in exactly her style: jeweled-colored walls with Grecian-like statues and tapestries, gold-leafed edging of furniture glowing warmly in the candlelight. He also laughed as he remembered Mama's response this past Season, lifting a small statuette and frowning. "Why on earth do none of them have any clothes?"

He and Cora, despite their distance then, had shared a look and bit their tongues.

But now, Robert looked up from the sway of his sister's brown silken skirts and up to the teal of the room. "That's new," he remarked, gesturing to what looked to him like a large recreation of Aphrodite standing coquettishly in the corner of the room they'd entered.

Rosamund twisted around as she sat to peer at it. "Oh, no. Not very." She turned back and smiled. "We found it ages ago. Do you like it?"

He hummed noncommittally and sat beside her.

"Dukes is just as enthusiastic about it as you seem to be." He watched her cut her eyes over at her husband now. "But he indulges me. You know, I think he may be rather fond of me."

Robert chuckled at his sister's joke. Across the room, his father and brother-in-law had carried on talking of whatever stocks they'd been speaking of at the dinner table, and Robert watched them as they began to pour out brandy. He watched, too, as Marmaduke's eyes wandered over to Rosamund and then back again.

"Would you like some?"

He shifted his gaze back to his sister and shook his head. "No."

She lifted her brows in surprise, which garnered another small chuckle from him.

"I know it rather unlike me, but I really should turn in. Cora's got quite a list for me to still search out while we're down."

"Does she? Anything I can help with?"

"Come to mention it, I did wonder." He readjusted himself on the tufted sofa. "She mentioned a scent she said you wore and … oh, what was the other thing?" Robert patted his breast but realized he'd left his notebook in his overcoat. "The list is in my coat—"

Rosamund signaled for a footman to fetch the thing as she spoke, "A scent I wear? She can't mean the lavender, does she? She seems to like a much deeper scent."

The footman had returned more quickly than Robert had assumed he would — perhaps they were all standing sentinel, holding their coats, hoping they'd leave soon. Robert stood when his sister did and while he put out his open palm for his coat, Rosamund was first. "She often wears that powerful American thing. The Caswell-Massey."

"It isn't powerful."

"Oh, very well, then — distinctive." He watched as she plucked the little notebook from the pocket herself and waved it at him before nearly tossing the coat back at the footman. "Here we are," she smiled at the footman who left the room, and rejoined Robert on the sofa.

"Rosamund," he insisted as he sat with her, but his sister ignored him.

Here, she opened the notebook and turned a few pages. His cheeks burned when he saw the folded sheet of stationary that fell upon her lap, but she gave it no mind.

"Ah, so she does mean the Guerlain! How interesting."

He nodded impatiently. "Thank you, now may I please —"

"But I haven't told you the scent! I believe it's the Jicky she's after. I can write it for you if — Robert, what is it?"

"I'd like my notes back, please."

"What? This?"

"Rosamund," Robert repeated and held his hand out to her, but, again, she ignored him as she took up the stationary from her lap, and unfolded the page.

"But what's so very secretive?" She asked and narrowed her eyes as she read.

"I'd like them back."

"Who is Edwin? And … oh. Oh!"

Robert felt his face burn hotter when his sister met his eye.

"Is this the list, then?"

Although her voice was hushed, Robert quieted her still, finally taking the paper from her. "Please, don't. You don't understand."

"Is there much to understand?"

"You haven't yet had children, and —"

"— and?."

"And Cora is … well she isn't like Mama —"

This elicited a grunt of a laugh, but Robert spoke over it.

"— and she has a rather softer nature when it comes to these sorts of things. I don't wish to speak ill of it."

"Ill of what, exactly?" Rosamund, her fingers now grasping at his notebook in her lap, look puzzled. "Of the list of names? Robert, I am aware that parents must name their children."

"Yes, but … but Cora. She," he took a breath. "She's very happy to become a mother, Rosamund. I," he pressed the paper between his palms and looked up. "I don't want you to make light of this. It's important to her."

The quiet here, where Robert thought there would be teasing and mocking, felt strange, as if he were on a swing and the easy rise and fall had suddenly stopped. What made it stranger still, was the softness he saw just around his sister's sharp eyes, warming them.

"I don't intend to make fun, Robert," she looked down into her lap and opened his notebook as she spoke, avoiding his gaze. "While I think Cora is rather, well, lacking in some ways, and naïve in others, I do think she is going to make a sweet little mother." He watched his sister point at the first item on the list he'd made in Cora's room, and her voice grew softer. "And you may make a fairly good father, too, if you allow yourself."

"Don't tease," he started, but when he realized Rosamund did not stir, he quieted. "But … do you believe that?" he asked, and at last his sister looked at him. "Truly?"

She nodded, and then she sighed. "Why do you always think I'm out to get you? Honestly! It's exhausting."

"It isn't you," he confessed. "I'm starting to see that perhaps I'm out to get myself."

. . .

Robert rolled to the small bedside table and deposited his book there. His eyes were burning from fatigue, and more than that, his fingers were chilled from the ever-present cold still in the room, despite the fire. He found himself nestling down deeply in the bedclothes and his thoughts went to Cora, who he knew would already be sound asleep. He wondered briefly if she was as cold as he was, and he hoped not. He also wondered how much warmer he would be if she were here beside him. He let that thought slowly make its way through his mind and heart, picking up images as it went. He imagined her curled on her side, the golden threads of her coverlet sparkling in the firelight. He imagined the way the wall's shadows would bounce and move as she slept. He imagined her fingers near her middle, and he pushed away a sudden smile. She was sweet. And he missed her.

Shifting up from the warmth of the bedding, Robert sat upright and, reaching to find the folded paper on the bedside table beneath his fingertips, gently picked it up and rolled again to his back.

The firelight flickered through the stationary as he unfolded the thing, and he smiled at his wife's loops of letters, the short lists of names she'd written.

He considered the name Edwin, and then again his own name on the list. He did like his own name, but it was certainly not something that appealed to him, to give a child someone's name. Shouldn't his son be his own man? Edwin, he repeated in his mind and dropped the paper into his lap.

He inclined, took and lit the candle from his bedside table, and shuffled over to the writing desk near the fireplace. His half-written note to Cora was still there, full of details about the day: the food he'd had, the shops he'd been to, the wallpaper samples that Rosamund promised she'd order for them. He'd been adding to her letter as the ideas came into his head, like a steady stream of conversation — albeit one-sided — with her. The shift in his penmanship from luncheon until now was remarkable, and he chuckled at himself. Cora would be able to tell where he'd stopped and picked up again.

He pushed the list of names into a rounded corner of the desktop and gently opened the lid of the inkwell to dip the nib of his pen into.

I have also given some thought to the list you've made of names, he wrote, and while I still believe it is much too early to decide these things, Papa said something earlier that's made me feel less troubled by your thinking of them. Indeed, it has made me feel less troubled by thinking of our child at all. I find I am quite happy, dearest. Truly. Though I'm not sure I shall ever be happy enough to abandon any of my traditions, however much this may vex you. He dipped the pen, grinning. But Papa said that we have earned our right to enjoy this. Earned our right. We've earned our right to be hopeful and proud. I'm certain that you're reading this with a sigh. Oh, darling. I give thanks for you, for the adornment of our union. And I give thanks for the forgiveness of every misdeed that's led me to this happy juncture. While I feel quite undeserving of it, you are not. You deserve every happiness, my Cora, and so I shall now admit to being partial to Edwin. Or Edward. Even better still George. Or Albert. I won't have a son named after myself, if you don't mind. Please. I fear Downton's had quite enough Roberts to be getting on with.

Robert smiled down at the letter, and dipping the pen again, continued.

And now I shall return to bed, my dearest one. I pray that you are warm beneath your covers. I pray that you are sleeping and dreaming peacefully. And I shall again think fondly of lying beside you as I try to fall asleep.

Most affectionately yours,

R.

He'd address it in the morning, he decided, in case he wanted to add a postscript. He laid the pen beside the letter, closed the ink well, checked — briefly — the sides of his hands for ink and then padded quickly back to the warmth of his sister's guest room bed and blew out the candle.

Shuffling down into the covers yet again, a new tiredness sunk deeply in his joints, and he exhaled a long breath. He'd imagine Cora as he fell asleep, he decided. He'd imagine how happy she'd be he'd considered the list she'd made. He'd imagine how pleased with him she'd be.

He breathed deeply again, beckoning sleep.

He thought of Downton. An image of snow. An image of his mother and Christmas cards. An image of Cora before the grand fireplace in the Great Hall.

And then suddenly Josephine.

He opened his eyes.

She'd chosen his grandmother's name. He couldn't recall any of the other names for girls she'd written down, for truth be told, he wasn't sure he could imagine himself the father of a daughter. But there it was, Josephine, lingering about his thoughts.

Papa would approve, he thought. Mama, too, perhaps, though Granny was never particularly kind to her. Or it may have been the other way around. He wasn't sure.

And it was a long name for what started out as such a little person, wasn't it? He couldn't imagine Granny ever being a young girl with such a name; in fact he couldn't imagine her ever being young.

Josephine.

Had Cora not liked her own grandmother's name? What had Cora's grandmother been called? How pleased and surprised she'd be if Robert suggested it. How fitting. But what was it?

That first visit at Downton, Cora had told him. She'd said she was called after her grandmother. He remembered the luggage the porters had helped them with on their honeymoon — it had her maiden initials on the clasp: CML. He remembered, too, the way her maiden name felt in his mouth as he vowed to love and cherish her.

Cora Marion. Robert closed his eyes again. His chest felt warmer in the cold room. Her name was Cora Marion.

Yes. It was a lovely name: Mary.

A/N: To whomever is still reading this story - You're wonderful. I am sorry the last few chapters will be such a trudge (or at least, I hope they won't be, but if I'm honest I'm rather unhappy with this installment). I still hope that you find things in these upcoming chapters that make you smile. I am going to try to post a chapter every Monday until the end - not long now! Chapter 16 is already written and I'm going to start 17 this evening. Thank you, most of all, for sticking with me. And thank you, thank you, thank you for your patience.