Chapter Nine

October 1890

Robert tapped the blunt corners of the envelopes at his palm as he bounded back up the stairs. For a week now, Robert had discovered a new routine. He'd leave his bed in the morning, he'd dress, he'd have breakfast, and then under the guise of bringing up her morning post, he'd enter the blue space of her room and they'd share secrets: she'd move her breakfast tray; he'd slip off his coat; he'd angle himself above her - laughing and smiling - and they'd kiss. Deeply. Repeatedly. It led to more twice now, Cora encouraging him to undress himself, promising him Isla would not come in, and he'd bury himself in her. Or she'd roll atop of him, surprising him, but in the best possible way.

She'd helped him finish both times, of her own volition; he could sense an unmistakable tinge of guilt for bringing him to the very edge of things, but having him pull away. He could tell by the coloring of her flushed cheeks. The way she whispered "thank you, darling." But he had insisted that she needn't feel guilt. She needn't even help him; he could manage it himself. After all, it somehow wasn't important! Just holding her in her wrinkled gown, tasting the hint of breakfast tea on her lips, the feel of her curls against his face, untamed and natural, it was enough. It was all enough to simply be with her. And he felt silly and light and yet grounded all at once.

Robert knocked twice, called out "May I come in?" to save Isla from any embarrassment, and then entered at Cora's voice.

"Come in."

Her maid was just placing the tray before her, and Robert lifted his chin.

She wore the nightgown he remembered from last night, her housecoat noticeably still lying at the end of her bed. An image of eight hours before — her candlelit face — appeared in his mind and made that place between his hips tingle.

"I brought up the post."

"Oh, I see." Cora snuck a quick blue glance at him and then looked at Isla. "Thank you. Really, Isla. You've been wonderful."

The maid said a mumbled "thank you, m'lady" and Robert watched her scurry out, leaving them.

And like it was now common practice, Robert flicked the letters to the dressing table and began to unbutton his coat. Cora moved her tray beside her and tossed away the sheets that covered her.

And he melted to her, her hands immediately finding his cheeks and then her finger finding the nape of his neck, softly.

"My darling," he couldn't help but to say into her mouth, and she whimpered and parted her knees. The heat of desire washed over him and he brought a hand to her thigh and traced long lines with his fingertips toward her center. The lightness of touch must have tickled her, for she jerked and laughed, and Robert's heart leapt up in his chest.

It felt better than any of the tingles before.

"I apologize," he smiled against her cheek, and she turned her face to his, her lips somehow finding his own.

She only giggled lowly in return. And they kissed.

Then, as they kissed, like a drunkard who hears words a beat after they're said, he paused. What had she said to Isla?

Robert lifted himself to peer down at her, her eyes still closed and her lips parted. She began to bring herself back up to him, but he stopped her. "Has something happened?"

Cora opened her eyes. "Happened?"

"With Isla."

"Oh." He watched her grin her crooked grin, and she shrugged one shoulder. "I took your advice, is all."

"Did you?" Robert had no recollection of giving her advice, but teased her regardless. "On what grave matter in particular?" Oh, but she looked so delicious lying there beneath him. He lowered himself to her and began to kiss her again.

"On the maid," she managed between kisses. "I've -" another soft kiss "- made a compromise -" another "— with your mother."

He lifted his head up again. "Really? You have? A new maid?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. Is that so very hard to believe?"

"No, no!" Robert pushed himself further away. "It isn't, but —"

"— but?"

He watched her for a moment: the line of her nose, the swell of her lip, the strand of hair that was caught on an eyelash that moved when she blinked. He breathed a small, grateful smile, and shifted his weight. And with one hand he moved the errant curl away from her lovely face.

The smile she'd worn before slowly melted away, and instead there was something different. Something, something that felt more intimate than anything they'd yet done. The air between them felt alive, somehow. He watched as her dark brows dipped slightly, and as she searched his eyes.

"But—" he heard himself whisper again, and when he broke the quiet, he shook his head. He smirked. "We're bound to be caught now."

At that, he watched as her face blossomed into a large, glowing smile. "Good," she said with conviction, and pulled him to her again. "I want to be caught."

…

"Where have you been?"

Robert turned around at his sister's voice. Rosamund, who'd been home the last four days in order to help prepare for the shooting party, was as comfortable, bossy, and snarkish as ever.

"Papa has searched for you for the last hour. He wants help finalizing the wines for the last two dinners."

Robert glanced at the clock in the Great Hall and then back at his sister. "It's half past nine. Does he really want to select wine now? I've only just finished breakfast."

Rosamund chuckled slightly, and Robert noticed that she held a board and paper. "I'd more than happily trade tasks. Or at least know your hiding place so that I may utilize it myself."

"I wasn't hiding. Time simply got away from us."

"Us?"

He felt Rosamund's sharp eyes on his profile. He walked faster into the dining room, toward the wine pantry. "I was with Cora." He tried to say it as perfectly casual as he possibly could muster, but it immediately sounded like a terrible, sensual confession. I was with Cora; he may as well have said "I was bedding my wife." Because he was. A third morning this week.

Rosamund, meanwhile, had no shame in following him into the pantry, totally disregarding her own list of tasks in order to pry further. "I see." She placed down her own paper and picked up the list his father had left him from the countertop. Her arched brows jumped in delight.

"Are we making … progress?"

He had avoided eye contact with her until then, but the way her dimple deepened at her smirk infuriated him.

"If you have something to say, Rosamund, just say it."

"But I have nothing …"

He scoffed and took the wine list from her. "I doubt that."

"Only Mama did mention that Cora seemed —"

He looked back at her. "Seemed what?"

"More docile as of late." Rosamund tipped the decanter of wine into an empty wine glass, "More amenable."

This frustrated Robert further. "She isn't a dog to be trained, Rosamund. She's my wife."

His sister paused with the glass at her bottom lip. "Robert." She put the glass down. "I am only repeating what Mama has said. And though it loathes me to say it, I don't believe Mama was being disparaging. I think she meant it as a compliment."

"Not very likely," he grumbled.

"I am on your side, you know," Rosamund caught his eye. "I only want you to be happy. And Mama, and I, have noticed that Cora seems happier, so we thought…"

"Thought what?"

Her shoulders fell. "That she might be pregnant."

Robert took the glass Rosamund had poured, slapping down the list. "Not you, too," and he nearly drank it down in one gulp.

"No. You won't have any pressure from me." She poured herself another glass from a different decanter. "I'd be delighted for you, of course. And for Papa. But you'll find I'm completely understanding of whatever happens."

Rosamund's tone had softened, and he peered at her as she sipped from the glass, and then as she looked at the list Papa had left. And then, feeling safer here with his sister, he put the wine glass down.

"Does she seem happier, Rosamund?" She looked at him. "Really?"

Her dimple returned. "Yes."

"There you are."

Both of them jumped slightly at the boom of Patrick's voice. "I see you're making a headstart."

"Mmm." Rosamund nodded and handed Robert the glass she held. She pointed to the twin, but unopened, bottle of the wine she'd tasted. "I believe this is my favorite. Should be delicious with the lamb course. This for the fowl." She pointed to the one she had just poured.

Robert knew she'd only tasted the one wine, but nodded along with her. "Yes."

"Good!" Their father came between them and angled the list in his hand to see it clearer. "Now then. Guests begin arriving just after luncheon. Your mama has asked for you, Rosamund. And if you see Cora, tell her Violet says the flowers in the library still need to be done. Charles is bringing up the shears and a cloth."

"Can't Mama tell Cora herself?" Rosamund picked up the paper and board Robert had seen her holding earlier. "I still need to ask Mrs. Davies to check the Chinese. Apparently Lord and Lady Aygoth are coming after all."

"Just tell her, Rosamund." Papa was irritable. "And Robert, since this task is complete," he patted the list and stood straighter, opening his pocket watch, "let us go walk the lines of the shoot. McCrady is there now. And he has the game books. We must out-perform last year, mustn't we?"

A jolt of excitement did alight in Robert's chest at that.

"When does Painswick arrive, Rosamund?"

"Marmaduke," she emphasized, "arrives on the two o'clock."

Papa grunted, and without saying goodbye, walked swiftly from the pantry. Robert followed at his heels.

…

He never tired of it: the bustle of movement in the Great Hall, the rush of soft laughter and anticipation. Robert looked over the heads of the people gathered there, most of whom he had known since childhood. He nodded at Lady Brent who smiled at him. And again at Sir John Wilcox, who had raised his brows. The fireplace was burning, the footmen had their trays, the guests all held their teacups and saucers, and Robert felt himself as alive as Downton. Home. This, this felt like home to him.

The newer, but now familiar sensation fluttered to life in his chest, and he looked above the crowd again for her. He searched for Cora's dark curls, her fair complexion, the straight but narrow breadth of her shoulders. When his eyes didn't find her after the first survey of the room, the flutter of wanting to be near her grew larger, into a strange little panic. It was not a panic to have her, to touch her, but his mind immediately prayed she was alright. What had someone said? Had Mama been too coarse? But then … there, near the interior door to the Hall, she stood in her juniper green dress, a darker green, nearly black, detailing up the skirt and puffed sleeves. He watched her for a moment as she smiled at Lord Aygoth, Mama beside her. He watched her, and the bustle of the room around her blurred, quieted, faded and fell away from her. He watched the tip of her curls, the genuine laughter that was still much too loud for Mama's liking, the way she touched her fingertips to Lady Aygoth's dress, complimenting her. And Robert felt taller and yet humbled. She was his wife. His wife.

She must've felt the warmth of his gaze from across the room, for as the Aygoths left her, she brought her bright eyes to his. And she smiled. Robert lifted his chin and smiled back at her, above all the people and conversation who'd slowly come back into focus. He watched her nod at Mama, and then slowly maneuver her way through the crowd of people, most of whom, he realized, she didn't know. It was when she was a footstep away that he closed the gap between them.

"Your mama will scold me," she said lowly. "After all, she's given me strict instructions to mingle."

"Don't worry. Mama will scold us all before the weekend is through."

She had a small burst of a laugh. "Yes. But it's very nice," her eyes danced over the scene Robert had admired. "I've never really seen Downton this way. Not properly."

"Our wedding breakfast had at least thrice as many guests, Cora."

"Oh, I know that," she responded. "But I was a little too distracted to notice anything other than you."

His stomach flipped, and he felt his cheeks draw up into a grin. She hadn't even looked up at him.

"But this is different," she continued. "And everyone seems so pleased to be here. I'm rather excited!"

Robert laughed. "Remember that tomorrow when your ears are ringing with gunshots."

She brought her eyes to him then, wide and pale. "So you won't release me from that obligation? I've never seen anything being killed before."

"I can't have a stranger stand with me. And Rosamund makes fun of me."

Cora chuckled and stepped closer. "Oh, all right. If you want me to, I will."

"Good." She had stepped so near to him that Robert could feel her body's heat. He smiled again. "I do want you."

But she hadn't caught his meaning. Instead she pointed quickly across the room. "Who's that? Was he at my ball in June?"

Robert followed in the direction of her finger, and then leaned down toward her ear. "Ah. Yes, that's Lord Branksome. You also met him when you stayed here before. When I proposed."

He felt her nod, and heard a small, "Oh, that's right."

"And there," in lieu of pointing, Robert tipped his head. "That's Sir Sidney Cooper. Steer clear of him. He's about as dull as paint drying."

Even nearer to him now, her elbow touching his side, Cora snorted.

Robert nodded toward another couple. "And you remember Ada and Dickie. They had just come back from their honeymoon at our wedding; they talked endlessly about the Rhine."

He heard her take in a breath, and he glanced down at her, the response not at all what he'd expected. He saw her hands go very briefly to her tightly laced bodice, before she straightened and met his gaze. "Yes. I remember Ada." She sighed a smile, and touched his wrist. "I better go. I don't want to start on the wrong foot."

"No," Robert offered her a smile, a genuine smile, which she took and returned with a pretty blush. But when she left his side, it felt odd. Quick and unnatural.

Robert brought his eyes back over to the Greys, and watched them for a moment before he realized something he hadn't before. Dickie stood there, facing Robert, his hands occupied by holding his cup and saucer. Ada stood beside him, in profile, but her hands did not hold a teacup. Instead they cradled a small, but conspicuous swell of her belly.

Robert pulled in a breath, and he looked again for Cora. She stood again by the interior door, smiling and greeting, but she did not look his way again.

…

They'd been separated for nearly the rest of the day and evening. The men had previewed tomorrow's shoot, the ladies had strolled the gardens. At dinner, they'd been seated as far apart as possible, and though Robert snuck glances in her direction, she'd only met his gaze once, and even then she'd looked away quickly. Even now, as Robert entered the library after the men enjoyed their brandy and cigars, he could not find Cora.

Mama sat with two of the other ladies, but just as he made his approach, Mama stood and came toward him.

"You need to have a talk with Cora."

The panic from earlier reared its head. "What could she possibly have done wrong in the course of half a day, Mama?" He tried to say it as softly as possible, though he noticed Sir John glancing his way.

"No. No, I won't pretend she hasn't done well today. No, indeed, she can be quite charming. But this isn't New York. We don't just go up to bed whenever we please." Mama shook her head, and looked around. "If we all went up whenever we liked, there'd be no one down! That's half the point - the forced conversation."

"When did she go up?"

Mama waved her hand before her. "Oh, half an hour ago. She never even sat."

"I'll go and see what's wrong."

But Mama cocked a brow. "Do you suppose anything is wrong? I assumed it was just Cora being herself."

Robert rolled his eyes. "Something is obviously wrong, Mama." He turned to leave, catching a glimpse of her flower arrangement as he did so. A few of the rose petals had fallen to the tabletop. He felt as if he were a pebble in a slingshot, the sight of her pretty flowers falling to pieces releasing him with force.

He flew upstairs. He called for Watson, undressed as quickly as he could, and then nearly rushed into Cora's room. But then he stopped. He took a breath, and then he knocked, softly, twice. When she didn't respond, he pushed open the dividing door.

And to his surprise, it was dark.

Robert paused at the door, the soft light of her fireplace illuminating her silhouette, lying in her bed, away from him.

He took in the sight of her with a sort of sweet ache in his chest. She seemed so fragile in her room. Asleep. The ache tightened, and he swallowed. He silently nodded a good night to her, though she could not see him, and he turned to retreat to his room. But just as he pulled open her dividing door, he heard the small rustle of her sheets and bedspread.

"Robert?"

He looked back over his shoulder. She'd rolled onto her back, propping herself upon her elbows.

"I wasn't expecting you yet. Is everyone going to bed?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. I came up early."

"But, why?"

Even in the dark, the way her eyes looked up at him made him warmer. "Why wouldn't I have?"

"Well, you seemed so happy earlier. And there are so many people here you haven't seen in so long. I hope I didn't pull you away against your will."

"No," Robert smiled at her and began to untie his dressing gown. He pivoted to drape it on the golden chair near her dressing table, and then turned back. "I wanted to come up."

She laid back on her pillows with a soft smile, and Robert shook off his slippers and climbed into her bed. He angled himself above her and let his head drop slowly to her own. But just as he bent down to kiss her, there on her bedside table, he saw the letter from this morning, unfolded, lying on top of a small stack of others. The envelopes unsealed. A green ribbon and a key laid beside them.

"What's this?"

Cora jerked her head to the table. "Oh, nothing."

She rolled toward them, causing Robert to move his arm out of the way and sit up.

He grinned a little at the way she bundled the open one back into its envelope and how she bounded the green ribbon around them. "From a secret admirer?" he teased.

She didn't laugh. "Truly. It's nothing."

The panic was beginning to feel familiar. "So, they are. Or they're at least secret."

"What?" She brought her eyes to him, and in the firelight, he watched her study him. "No. Not in that way."

"Then I can't know who they're from?"

"Aunt Ruth, mostly."

She tied a knot around them and then looped the tail of the ribbon through the handle of the key. She began to tie a bow.

He exhaled a little of the anxiety and it came out as a chortle. "Quite sentimental for your aunt. Though, I know you're close."

He was surprised at how quickly she shook her head. "No. It's —" her eyes met his again, and her mouth held open. "Well, I have a new maid."

"Are these from your new maid?"

"No! Don't be silly."

"It's all very mysterious."

Cora let her hands holding the bundle fall to her lap. "It's that I don't want Perkins to find them. So I'm hiding them in my desk."

Robert raised a brow. "Are they very private?"

He was again surprised when she blinked at him. A small verbal filler hummed from her lips. "Well just … fodder for gossip. I suppose." Here she opened her side drawer and shoved them in. "I've already been the topic of gossip once too many times in this house."

He laughed, but humorlessly. This was true.

"And speaking of gossip," Cora shifted down in her bed. And Robert followed suit. "I caught Rosamund in your old nursery today." Her voice was low between them. "She was going through old crates."

"Oh?"

Cora nodded against her pillow, facing him now. "Yes. An old set of puppets."

"Punch and Judy?" Robert's interest was piqued. "What should she want with those?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Unless she'll need toys soon."

"Why would she need that?"

"If she's … well … do you think she could be pregnant?"

Robert hadn't the slightest idea. He loved his sister as a good brother should, but he didn't ruminate on her private life often, if at all. "I suppose she could be. She and Painswick've been married for quite some time."

"Oh."

Robert massaged the top of his head with his fingers, his head and elbow resting on her headboard. And then he stopped, and looked again at her. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she was hardly convincing. "Only, of course she can take whatever toys she likes. They were hers too, after all —"

"—Punch and Judy are mine," he interrupted.

"But I suppose I would like her to leave some for our own children. It just felt …" she trailed off. And then with a click of her tongue, she shrugged. "I don't know."

"Actually," Robert's mouth was braver than his heart and he paused.

"Yes?"

"Rosamund suspected that you might be." There was no reaction. None. So he continued. "I didn't tell her it was impossible. She needn't know."

There was still no expressive reaction in her features. Even in the firelight, he could see her expression was blank. But she moved. She tilted her chin up to him, and quite like a moth to a flame, he met her. And they kissed. Deeply. Again. His mind wandered, drifting away from him and his hands wandered, to lift her nightdress, her warm, velvety skin delighting his fingertips.

But she was quiet. There were no soft whimpers or moans, and he pulled away from her to look at her.

On her side, in his arms, she looked back at him. And she whispered, "Do you want me to be?"

He furrowed his brow. "What?"

He felt her ribs expand beneath his arm. "Do you want me to be pregnant?"

Yes, he thought, but he kept quiet. Her face, the way she looked at him kept him quiet.

"Only, perhaps I am being foolish." She exhaled the breath she'd taken. "And when I saw Rosamund, and with my aunt's letters, and I … perhaps it is unfair of me to have everyone wait just because of my naïve ideas."

"You aren't a fool," he said, and she tried a small smile.

And then they kissed again. And again. But Robert's mind did not float away. He stayed grounded as she pulled herself closer to him. As she pressed herself against him. Closer and closer until, at last, he pulled away.

He whispered again. "Truth be told, I'm rather tired."

"Oh," her voice was soft. She unlaced her fingers from his hair. "Are you angry with me?"

"What? No! I'm not cross." He grinned at her in the dark. "No."

She nodded and pulled further away from him. She drew the blankets back up to her chin.

He sat up away from her, but then stopped and peered down at his wife. "Do you mind if I stay in here tonight?"

Her face lit up the entire room. "Of course I don't mind, Robert. I want you to."

He laid back down, and shifted his weight down deeper into her bed. When he turned to tell her good night, she was still smiling.