First Come, First Serve

Chapter 7

Patrick was relieved. He was very surprised by the news Robert brought. He shouldn't be surprised. There was nothing else left, than for this plan to work. They had clung to Robert's journey to America because it was the last anchor to their old life. But deep down, Patrick apparently had capitulated already.

And then Robert sent the telegram the night he landed on the English coast.

Coming home. Got engaged. Wedding in September. – R.

Violet let out a shriek of surprised delight when Patrick handed her the telegram. A sound totally unknown to Patrick's ears. Patrick had talked to the vicar the next day. Robert wasn't even home and he already inquired which day in September would be possible to wed the viscount and his American bride.

Life at Downton Abbey was entirely altered since Robert's telegram had arrived. Patrick felt it in his own demeanour and his newly brightened perception of the world but also in everyone else's elation. Violet – though she was intent on mentioning her concerns when they got too delighted about the prospects – had a much lighter expression on her elegant yet distinct face. She looked so genuinely happy, and it made Patrick happy in return. There sometimes even was a bound in her step, and Patrick noticed how she was more affectionate than usual. It was more often now that she greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and held his hand a second longer. One evening, they both must have been quite inebriated from the late hour and new hope, they still kept each other company when it already rang midnight. They sat on one settee in the library, and on the sound of the big grandfather clock, Violet shuffled even closer to Patrick and sank against him into his arms. Briefly, he was confused by such tenderness but the inebriation that prompted her behaviour was shared by him and he quickly accepted her affection and rested his chin on the crown of her head. He breathed in the soft scent of rose perfume emanating from her light hair. He noticed that the first greyish streaks showed in the light orange. She sighed into his embrace.

"We deserve this peace of mind that finally has been granted us, Patrick." Her voice was soft, softer than Patrick had heard in the great majority of their marriage. "And even though his clumsy reluctancy had given us a lot of trouble, I knew Robert would find a good way – his way – and make us proud. Aren't you proud?"

Patrick nodded. "I am." He bit his tongue to keep from voicing his immediate thoughts. He would have said it out loud in any other situation but this. It was too precious to spoil. Nevertheless, the thought was there for a fleeting second before her warm weight in his arms distracted him again. Maybe he would have come around sooner if he hadn't been so coddled by Violet and her high standards for his future. Violet never saw how much she indulged her sweet and kind son and always hid her affections behind her cold façade. Patrick knew better than that. Robert meant the world to her, even if she acted stern. She had to get the best for Robert; there was no way around it. Not that Patrick didn't adore her for it (he appreciated her strong sense of family and her powerful love for their children), but he had attributed some of their troubles and Robert's struggles in the past to her coddling and her inability to see what she was doing. But it didn't matter now. It all turned out for the best.

"I am proud," Patrick repeated. He pressed his lips chastely to the top of her head. "It feels good to be so free of worries."

"It does." She patted his chest and extracted herself from his embrace. "I am going up."

She rose from the settee and he followed her.

What times of joy had come to Downton finally!

The joy got even greater when Robert arrived at Downton. The details he told made Patrick's heart sing. The dowry was much bigger than Patrick had hoped for. It meant a new blossoming time for Downton. And the bride had already booked her ticket to cross the ocean in a few weeks and be here for the wedding in September. It was too good to be true.

"And tell me about Miss Walton, Robert? Will you also be happy with her? And not only we about her money?"

"She is quite nice." Robert's smile was faint. Patrick waited for him to elaborate but Robert stayed silent after his short and barely enlightening statement.

"Do you enjoy her looks?" Patrick had to suck everything out of him. Robert was so taciturn. It was as if he was cross with his father. But it seemed he had found a perfect bride. What was he sulking about?

"She has blonde hair and a pleasing figure I would think. But she is just a young girl, Papa. I don't want to think about whether her looks are attractive. It's not fair. I feel sorry for her for being thrust forever into a world she doesn't know and forcing her to grow up from one day to the other. And just because we need her money."

"Robert, enough! We have talked about this often enough. This is a deal we make with your American heiress. A bargain. Both ends get something out of it. Everyone gets what they want."

Robert looked at him darkly. He stayed quiet. He stayed quiet during most of the wedding preparations. Patrick didn't understand it. Everything was going better than expected but Robert seemed to get more depressed every day. It wasn't his bride that was being childish. Robert was sulking like a stubborn child just because this dream wedding didn't align with his high and mighty morals. What saintly son had Patrick raised there; so unfit for the mortal life of a viscount?


Nellie was a sweet girl, of course. That was what made it even more impossible for everyone to understand why Robert was so gloomy before his wedding day. He tried to not show it to Nellie directly because that wouldn't be fair. She couldn't do anything about the fact that Robert's heart belonged to another. Robert wasn't depressed because of Nellie. He didn't care about Nellie. Robert was depressed because he had put an entire ocean between his beloved Cora and himself. He did that. It was his own fault. He was the only one to blame for his unhappiness. He had once rejected the chance of a life with Cora and now it was forever too late. He would marry Nellie. Poor Nellie.

Only when he was back at Downton his old feelings of repulsion against binding a girl to their estate and make use of her money resurfaced. It wasn't fair to Nellie. It wouldn't be fair to anyone. In New York, he had been intent on finding someone, anyone who could fill the estate's bank account. His grief for Cora made him ignorant of his former feelings of guilt for taking someone else's money for his own needs. He only had Cora's words in mind; tried to comply with her instructions. You have to go. You can't come back. She had made it out to be so easy. Without alternative. Find a sweet girl and return to your estate. Robert had done that, had only focused on her orders because he would do anything she said. Everything was easier when she said it. Her warm voice made even the hardest tasks manageable. But now there was Nellie. His actions had caused Nellie Walton to be at Downton now. And since she was here, Robert could deal with Cora's orders less well. Nellie didn't deserve to be a means to an end. Robert did not care much for her but even in his heartbroken stupor, he could see she didn't deserve that. No one else seemed to see it, though.

It was the day before their wedding day. The great hall was already decorated all in white. White roses graced the banister. White tulle hovered over every surface. Distantly, he heard Nellie giggle. She lived in the guest wing with her parents until the wedding. One last night. Today she was as nervous as a child on Christmas Eve. She avoided him today; in expectation of the big day tomorrow. But it seemed she couldn't quite let him be. Again and again, he heard her giggle or saw her for a second on the landing of the first floor before she vanished behind a large column. Robert hoped she wasn't seriously enamoured with him. It would only break her heart.

Robert went into the library. She wouldn't follow him there. With a sigh, he walked amidst the comfortable shelter of the bookshelves covering the walls. He thought about pouring himself a whiskey from his father's liquor stand.

The sudden sound of a voice next to him startled Robert.

"You seem wretchedly unhappy."

His sister sat casually on one of the settees.

"Rosamund! You don't have to scare me out of my wits like this!" He looked at her warily. She disturbed his peace.

"You're out of your wits anyway. And? What makes you so unhappy? Does Nellie bite? Has she called you a little boy but you're a big boy already?" She was relentless in her teasing of him. Robert couldn't really believe her that she was genuinely worried about his happiness.

"You're a mean and unfeeling savage, Rosamund. I'd rather you bite your nasty tongue and stop pissing on me before my wedding day," he snubbed her, much harsher and more vulgar than was his usual tone. Pouring himself a drink after all, he felt her presence grow more uncomfortable in his back.

There was a little pause before she inevitably continued.

"So, you are unhappy," she calmly stated.

Robert huffed. "Of course, I'm unhappy! Everyone sees that!" He turned back around.

"But no one understands why." She gave him a challenging look as she lay there, lounging back onto the settee.

"It wouldn't change anything."

"Have you tried?"

"Leave me be, alright?"

Rosamund flicked an invisible crumb off her sleeve. Robert sipped on the burning liquid.

"You know what, Robert? Papa is right. You're creating your own misery." There was an edge to her tone. She was irritated as she got up. She stood a second in front of Robert before she left the room.

Robert sighed. "I know," he whispered. "I know."

He went to the settee Rosamund had occupied just a few seconds ago. He sat down at the other end. His thoughts wandered to his fiancée and what would come the following day. It was more bearable than thinking about Cora.

Yesterday, they had been at the church for the wedding rehearsal. Robert didn't see what use there was in rehearsing a wedding. The vicar would guide them through the whole process anyway. But Robert didn't argue and just stood there beside the small Nellie who bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. The walls of the church threw back the vicar's words in a hortatory echo. This made it all the clearer to Robert how dauntingly final this was. Nellie Walton and Robert Crawley. Nellie and Robert. N & R. Together they would have to produce the next heir to the Grantham Earldom and the Downton Abbey estate. Robert would have to visit Nellie at night, get into her bed, and perform their marital duties until the line of succession was secured. Nellie would grow round with their children; just like Cora grew round from Mr Lowell's child. Nellie's small body would have to provide for Robert's offspring and her small back and shoulders would have to carry the burden of Downton's future. Would their children run around with Nellie's bouncy curls? Would Robert soon pet the strawberry blond flax of fine hair on his son's head, who just looked like his mother? Would he have to listen to Nellie telling their children about the faraway land she came from while Robert knew someone else should tell this story? Someone cuddling her own child who didn't need to hear these stories as their mother never really left.

"And then you can leave as the doors will be opened for you and the village will welcome you with flowers and congratulations." Congratulations, lations, tions. The vicar's echo smothered Robert.

"Oh, how nice! I can't wait! That is so sweet!" Nellie clapped her hands.

"It's custom," the vicar said flatly.

"A nice custom," Robert wove in, a placatory look at Nellie by his side. His comment provoked bile to rise in his throat. This nice custom made him want to throw up. He didn't want to be congratulated on his wedding with Nellie. He didn't want the entire village to know about it. He hated to have witnesses to an act that just felt so wrong.

"Do you have any questions we should take care of before the big day?"

A helpless laugh left Robert's throat. The walls reflected the forlorn sound thousandfold. The shocked pairs of eyes burned into Robert's skin, and he lowered his head in embarrassment.

"Pardon. Nothing you could help us with."

The vicar challenged him with an intense look. He was not amused by this answer. Robert knew he shouldn't have questions the vicar couldn't answer. But no one had an inkling that Robert's questions revolved around a woman across the ocean.

Nellie stood next to him with her head bent. She sensed the awkwardness of the situation and tried her best to pretend not to be a part of it.

"I will see you on the 23rd then." The vicar nodded briefly before he turned away from the couple and went down the aisle in his long robe.

The 23rd. Tomorrow. Robert shook off the images of the wedding rehearsal and sunk deeper into the settee in the library. He felt the nausea again, and the burning of the whiskey mixed with the bitter taste of bile. He didn't want to be sick, so he put his tumbler of whiskey away.

He would marry Nellie. It had to be done. And he would see if his mother's wise words were true and if no pain would ever stay as strong as the initial hurt. Maybe – if she was right – he would live comfortably with Nellie one day, and the memory of Cora would just be the distant throb of a nearly healed bruise.