Chapter Eleven
late October 1890
The trap bumped and bucked along the autumn path out to where Robert, Patrick, and McCrady, the gamekeeper, had scoped out for the lines of the shoot. Robert sat beside Marmaduke who'd come the previous afternoon, and Cousin James who had arrived on the milk train. His cousin's arm kept hitting his own and Robert shifted on the wooden bench, his cushion similarly sliding and bunching under his bottom. He groaned, and across from him, Dickie and Papa looked up. They'd not properly spoken unlike the other men who spoke lowly around them. The four of them had been content to simply watch the scenery, but now they all nodded at one another, expectantly. Robert was the first to look away.
He angled his shoulders and neck outside of the wagon and looked behind them at the ladies' carriage. It was smaller as there were fewer women with them. Emma, James's wife, had not come at all. Ada stayed behind with Mama, who'd meet them for lunch, but Rosamund and Cora were among the other women in the smaller wagon.
Perkins, Cora's new maid, had dressed her well. Robert had complimented her this morning upon his arrival back in her bedroom: a sensible gray-brown tweed, a hat with all manner of feathers, and her curls all pinned up neatly and out of the way underneath. She looked as if she was to-the-manor-born. But she didn't behave quite as such. It was obvious she was dreading the shoot all morning. She was snappish and irritable, and even rolled her eyes playfully at him when he raised his brows in excitement as they parted one another's side for the carriages.
He'd watched Rosamund swoop in beside her, beginning to talk her ear off. Robert felt a small guilt that he'd made Cora come, but he was happy Rosamund wouldn't be standing next to him. And Cora would like it in the end, he was sure.
"Has Cora ever chummed you before, Robert? Have you told her what to do?" James leaned into Robert's shoulder. It was as if he could read minds. Irritating. "Does she know not to speak too much? Or how loud the guns are? And who is your loader?"
"My loader is Graham," he ignored everything else. "And yours?"
"I don't know the chap's name. I've seen him before."
"— Thompson."
"Ah, that's it. Thank you, Uncle Patrick."
Robert looked across at his father.
"Well? Have you prepped her?"
Robert sighed. Not him, too. "She knows. I went over it all this morning. She's not very dim, you know."
"No, of course she isn't. But she is from New York."
"You sound like Mama."
Dickie chuckled, "Gracious. I didn't realize it was such a serious sin. To be from New York."
"It is according to Lady Grantham." Robert tried to lighten his voice, but even he could hear the strain in it.
"Well, if it isn't impolite to say so, I think Lady Downton's repented for it quite well this weekend," Dickie smiled. "Ada finds her to be very nice. And from Ada, that's high praise."
The other men smiled.
"Yes. Lady Downton has done well," Papa conceded. "Though of course, she's had a year to learn."
"Not a year," Robert shook his head. "Not as long as that."
"Ah! Here we are!" Painswick lifted his chin and every other man in the wagon seemed to come to life, their voices growing louder, their excitement palpable. Around him, Robert's family gathered up their belongings.
They slowly rolled to a stop, and Robert followed the current as they stepped from the wagon.
The lords and gentlemen all filed out. The grooms helped the ladies descend from the carriage. The loaders all found their man, striking up gun-centric conversation, the men, in turn, finding their guns and holding them open over the crooks of their elbows, much like they'd hold a lady's gloved hand.
Robert searched over the sea of feathered hats for Cora's, and at last found her, searching over the sea of tweed hats for him. They moved to one another.
"How was the lady's journey?" Robert asked once within earshot.
"Fine," Cora pulled a little on her leather glove. "Rosamund and Lady Brent had a lot to say."
Robert laughed. "That I can believe."
"And the men?"
"Same, really. Though Dickie did pay you a compliment."
Her face pinked. "Really? Why were you talking of me?"
"It was only for a moment," he turned his head back to where the others had begun to trudge. "Shall we walk down?"
Cora feigned a grin. "If we must."
He chuckled. "You'll enjoy it! Come."
He led the way down the hill to the open field where they'd visited the day before. They followed the long line of people who tramped over the same branches and leaves as they did, but Cora's steps were slower and more cautious. Somewhere along the way, she'd fallen behind him, and Robert kept peering over his shoulder, watching as she hiked up her skirt and as she brought her knees higher and higher, the hem of her frock catching on thorns and sticks.
"Come on!" He hastened her. "We don't want to miss it."
"Go on ahead, Robert!" she returned, and Robert paused.
She was trying. She really was trying.
"Here, then." He rambled over to where she stumbled and caught at her elbow. "Lean on me."
He was surprised when she moved away. "No! No, darling, go ahead. Really. I know how excited you are."
Her cheeks were all flushed, though there was a chill, and the exercise brought a bit of brightness to her clear blue eyes, and he smiled down at her. Before Robert realized what he'd done, he'd caught her at her arm again and pulled her close. He kissed her.
"No," he whispered. "I want to wait for you."
His wife merely blinked up at him, and then this time the grin was sincere. "Very well," she shook her head good-naturedly. "Then I'll try to hurry."
"Good!" He laughed, and he felt her grasp his free arm tighter as she used it as a stick, of sorts, to carry on through the woods.
When they made it to the clearing, Robert's loader was waiting. They made it up to his spot just as the others fired their first shots.
He could sense Cora tense behind him, but he knew she was alright. The guns were loud, that was all. And he was simply too excited to worry. The shoot. The first of the year!
Robert took his gun from Graham and angled it up to the sky. He waited for the signal. His muscle burned by the time the pheasants flew and the gun, at firing, made a sweet ache in his shoulder at the ricochet, and he smiled. He handed the gun to the loader.
"Did you hit one?"
He glanced over his left shoulder at her; her eyes scanned the skies.
"No," he turned more fully to her. "And I'll thank you for not keeping count."
"Oh. No. Wouldn't dream of it."
Robert chuckled and shared a smile with Graham. "Good."
They waited again. He could hear as she shuffled in the leaves behind him, and he drew in a breath.
And they flew: "Ah!" Again, Robert lifted the gun and aimed, and it kicked into his shoulder. But none of that mattered. He watched as the bird fell from the sky.
"Well shot, m'lord!"
Robert smiled and immediately turned around to Cora. Her expression was long.
"You killed it," she whispered. And then she brought her eyes to his. "Yes. Well done, darling." And she pulled up the corners of her mouth briefly.
Robert looked again at Graham who reached for his gun.
"It is the object of the sport, Cora."
"Yes, yes. Of course it is. And quite impressive, darling. It's just," Cora moved her mouth, and then exhaled. "I've never seen an animal be shot, that's all." He watched as her eyes looked out into the field, to the dogs bringing back the birds to their owners.
Graham handed Robert back his gun, but it felt heavier than before.
"Is it very difficult?" Her voice again. "How do you know when to pull the trigger? They're flying so quickly!"
He shrugged. "Practice?" And he glanced again at her. "And many missed shots, too."
He was relieved when Cora smiled.
And Robert turned around again.
"How do you keep track of which bird is whose?"
Robert sensed Graham glancing at him, and they shared a look.
"One follows the bird as it falls, darling."
"But the dogs do?"
Robert sighed. "Really, it shouldn't matter if I get the correct bird, as long as I get a bird for each shot. At the end of the weekend, we'll tally the total. It isn't quite a competition."
"Isn't it?"
Robert turned around to her, and guns fired. He saw her jump a little and look at the sky. "No, not officially." She looked back at him. "But the house is in competition with the previous year."
"Oh, I see," he turned back and waited. But she continued, "So as a house party, you'll want more than 325."
He whipped back around, his eyebrows jumping as she had moments ago. "How do you know that?"
She blinked. "Know what?"
"The total from last year."
He watched as she tipped her head. "You wrote it to me. Last year. When we were engaged. It was one of the two letters you sent me."
He felt a sharp pain at that. He'd only written to her two times. Only two.
But she hadn't meant it as an insult. Her face was soft and bright. Her eyes searched him. "Really, Robert. You must think I listen to nothing you say." And she smirked, teasing him.
"I don't know what I think," he smiled back at her, and turned again to the birds, glanced again at her briefly, and then to Graham beside him.
"How many have you gotten, Robert?"
They all looked quickly to James, who'd startled them.
"I've lost count," Cora warmly lied, and Robert heard Graham chuckle under his breath.
"Ah," James took two steps closer and held out his arm. "Then I'm stealing Cora. Come on."
Cora looked between them. She made a small noise.
Robert nodded, "Go on. Cousin James needs far more luck than I."
James pointed at him seriously, his eyes narrowing, and whispered something to Cora who laughed.
"Now then, m'lord."
Robert turned back to Graham, who reached out for his gun. Robert handed it over, and sighed. He could hear Cora's voice in the breeze.
He rubbed his hands together as Graham reloaded, and looked up at the hazy sky. He knew Dickie was two places down from Cora, and that Marmaduke and Rosamund were one down from him. He listened quietly, and heard no shots around him.
Graham handed him his gun, and Robert mounted it to his shoulder, and waited, quietly, until the wild fluttering of wings was upon him. He pulled the trigger and … a miss.
"Blast," he whispered under his breath, and his eyes went to his left, towards his cousin and Cora, James was smiling over at him. Perhaps she was a good luck charm. Robert grinned.
"We're to move to the next drive now, m'lord." Graham again opened the barrel of the shotgun and hung it over his forearm. "I'll just go and help Thompson with the cases, and we'll see you there. I'll be bringing the Purdey along, too, m'lord."
He nodded to him, but his eyes drifted over his shoulder and to Cora, as she and James walked nearer.
"Next drive, they say," James called over, and Robert lifted his chin.
"Yes," and then, even though she was still quite a distance away, Robert lifted his elbow, now offering his arm to Cora. He delighted in her smile.
"No! Don't you dare." James lifted his hand and pointed at Robert. "I've just shot my first of the day with Cora chumming me. As she said you've shot more than enough, I dare say it's my turn."
At last Cora was within touching distance, and inexplicably, Robert reached his hand out to her; fluidly, quickly and naturally, she grasped it. "That isn't quite what I said."
"Well, all the same, rather rude not to share," James teased. "Now say your goodbyes, you two."
"What's this?" Robert turned and looked over his right shoulder at his sister. "Are you leaving, too, Cora?"
She opened her mouth, but Rosamund was faster.
"Please say no. Marmaduke has had enough," she glanced at her husband beside her who sighed, "and I cannot possibly convince him to stay."
"No matter how I try, I am not a country sportsman. I enjoy the first run, but please don't have me out all day. Carson says Walters has arranged a wagon home before luncheon —
"—You'll ride with the servants," Rosamund again interjected, but Marmaduke, as usual, only wagged his head.
"I do believe I shall survive it, my dear."
"Survive what?"
Dickie was suddenly beside them, and Cora stepped closer to Robert to make room.
"Marmaduke is to return to Downton on the servant wagonnette."
"Oh," Dickie smiled. "Had enough?"
Marmaduke nodded. "Yes, but the trouble is, Lady Rosamund has not. She'd be happy to stand with you."
"Yes," Rosamund agreed, but Dickie was already refusing, albeit politely.
"No. Afraid I'm much too insecure for a lady's presence. More's the pity."
Beside him, Robert sensed Cora silently laugh and he peered at her; they shared a small look, a look that suggested he was enjoying this time away from his wife, and Robert clasped Cora's hand more tightly.
"Then, James, I shall stand with you."
Robert prayed he'd say yes.
"No." Damn. "Cousin Cora is with me. No matter how Robert protests."
Robert felt his face flush, and he shook his head. "I have not protested. Though," he looked down at her, "it is her first shoot and I haven't spent any of it with her."
James, mimicking what Robert had done only moments before, proffered his elbow. "At least ten more birds, hmm?"
"James—"
"Come Cora. Before he tells Nanny that I've taken away his favorite toy."
The group laughed around him, and Robert knew probably at him, but he didn't care. Cora did not laugh. She only smiled ruefully, and tenderly grasped Robert's pinky and ring fingers as she walked away from him. Her hand had been soft, but cold against his own.
"I hope Cora's not lost her glove."
When Robert looked up, he and Rosamund were alone, and he found her peering meaningfully at him. Her eyebrows jumped one, suggestively.
"I'm sure she hasn't," she smirked, and then turned, leading the way behind the group towards the next clearing.
They were behind James and Cora, in the wake of Cora's jasmine perfume. He watched her as they walked. He watched the back of her curls beneath her smart little hat, the bend of her elbow as she used James's arm for support through the thicket of leaves and small branches.
Rosamund, having commandeered her own husband's stick instead of using Robert's arm, was at least six feet from his side. Regardless, he could feel the heat of her stare upon him.
Slowly, he took his eyes from Cora's curls and shifted them to his sister. In response, she narrowed hers.
Robert sighed. "What is it?"
Rosamund shook her head, "Nothing," she lied through a smug little smile.
He chose to ignore her, and stare again ahead, at his wife.
At the drive clearing, Graham greeted him with a nod and showed him his choices of shotgun, still broken over his arm. Robert tried to concentrate on what Graham was saying, asking, indeed, which shotgun he preferred – the Blaser F16 or Purdey 20 – but he could hear Cora's voice from where she stood with James. His gaze drifted to her. She was smiling; she had put back on her gloves.
"The Blaser, yes?" Rosamund startled him, and he inhaled and cleared his throat.
"Yes," he nodded. "Apologies, Graham."
His loader merely handed him the gun and walked to the trunk to replace the unused one.
"She isn't going anywhere." Robert looked again at his sister, her smirk teasing and slightly patronizing. "She's safe and sound there, standing by our delightful cousin."
"Oh, shut up," he grumbled, but Rosamund laughed.
Shots rang out around them, and Robert looked into the air, and then, as if he couldn't help it, he looked again to her.
She stood with one hand lowering from where she'd covered her ear, smiling a little at James. He watched as James said something to her over his shoulder, and as she laughed; but her eyes, her pretty eyes, looked over to him.
Their eyes met and they stood there, gazing at one another, and then, before he really even realized it, he was smiling at her. Softly smiling. And his heart pounded behind his ribs.
Another shot rang out, and James said something more, to which Cora glanced again to him.
Robert swallowed.
"You are awfully distracted," Rosamund said behind him.
"I'm not," he lied, and mounted his gun to his shoulder. "And I could do without your condescending commentary."
"But why would I be condescending?" The sincerity of her voice surprised him, and Robert lowered his gun. "I can think of worse things than being in love with your own wife."
He looked at her, moved his thoughts around trying to find something to say until, "Did Papa tell you?"
But his sister shook her head. "No." She smiled. "He didn't have to."
. . .
The roast for dinner was a nice, warm contrast to the day's honey-peared pheasant and chilly wind. Robert even had to admit that he enjoyed himself at dinner, as the men at last came through to the library to join the ladies. The candle and firelight made the books around them dance and colored the red of the sofas a shade of Cabernet, like the wine they'd had with their meal. Robert smiled at Lady Brent as he entered, Lord Brent directly behind him muttering a hello to his wife. Robert also nodded to Ada, who reclined on one of the chairs by a small table, speaking to Lady Frances, John Foyle's wife. Robert passed them by and lifted his chin. Where was Cora?
"McCrady sent word there's dense fog now."
Robert turned around to Papa.
"In fact, he's doubtful it'll clear before morning."
But Robert wasn't really listening to him. "Where's Cora?"
Papa looked casually around the room, "Oh. Is she not down?"
Robert could see Mama and Rosamund over Papa's shoulder, and when he caught Rosamund's eye, he furrowed his brow, for her head cocked to the side meaningfully, her own brow lifting in a question.
Repeating his steps, his father at his heels, he nodded and smiled his way back over to where his mother and sister stood, by the upper door of the library, the smaller fireplace crackling behind them.
"What have you said to her, Mama?"
Violet widened her stare.
"I haven't a clue as to what you're referring—"
"If it wasn't you, who was it? Someone obviously said something to upset her."
Rosamund laughed amusedly. Robert felt his father come around him and tilt his own head toward Robert's. "What?"
"I am assuming you mean Cora —"
"—you know I do—"
"—and no. No one has said anything to upset anyone. She's simply gone up early."
"Two nights in a row, Mama? Unlikely."
"She was with you all day, Robert," Mama shook her head slightly, as if Robert was losing his mind. "When would I have had a chance to say anything at all to her beyond good morning and good evening?"
Robert looked at his sister, but to his surprise she only stood placidly by. "It was quite a long day, Robert," she said quietly before Marmaduke beckoned her from across the library.
The heat Robert had felt moments ago was beginning to cool into embarrassment, and he looked between his parents and then at his feet. He cleared his throat.
"Shall I go and see to her?" He heard himself ask stupidly. But to his small surprise, there was no immediate answer. In fact, his father left his side without a word, and Mama, she forced a tight grin to someone as they passed by to fetch another drink before she lowered her voice.
"No. No, let her rest," she said quietly. Robert blinked. "I hear she did well today."
"Yes." The word, short and simple, felt anything but as it left his smiling lips.
And there was no response. There was no response until at last, Robert looked up at his mother. She was watching him. And then, strangely, she patted his arm twice as she moved away.
"Good night."
He looked around. The room was engaging and warm, like a glimpse of a happy memory from childhood; it was his favorite thing in all the world: the hunt. The shoot. Downton alive and twinkling.
But he didn't care to stay.
Quietly, he slipped from the room and up the stairs, letting the lone candle he carried help him up and away from the laughter below. He went into his room, and went to pull the cord for Carson, but stopped. It would take Carson ages to be up here, and all Robert really wanted — truly wanted — was to go into the room next door and see his wife. So he, very clumsily, undressed himself, taking off his shoes with a thick thump as each hit the rug where he dropped them. And then when he was done, he dug through a bottom compartment of his wardrobe, searching for what he neglected to realize Carson would bring up: pajamas. He found a pair of pajama bottoms - ones that presumably were in here as a last resort, the material thin and not at all warm. There was also a pajama shirt, but like the bottoms, were in need of care: there was a missing button and the material was the opposite season of the bottoms - thick and nearly like flannel. He checked his reflection in the sole candlelight of the dressing room, and decided he looked a bit like a walking ragbag. He laughed a little at himself, and then thought that Cora would likely find it funny, too.
He turned and quietly pushed inside her room, fully expecting her to be asleep. However, to his surprise, her lamp was still burning at her bedside table, the fireplace still crackled and leapt brightly in the hearth, and Cora sat upright in her bed, reading.
She glanced up toward him as he entered, and for however bright her room was, her smile was that much brighter.
"Robert!" Her eyes sparkled. "You came up early."
"I did," he felt a sense of deja vus. "But … are you alright?"
"Yes," she furrowed her brow. "Are you? You look as if Carson's playing a joke on you."
He chuckled and moved toward her. "I actually dressed myself this evening." He climbed into the bed. "I'd forgotten my pajamas are in the downstairs wardrobes."
"Probably for the best. It took ages for Perkins to come up tonight. I'd forgotten that some of the ladies didn't bring their maids. And she is still new. I'm sure I was rather inconsiderate to come up early during such a large house party."
Robert pouted thoughtfully. "Perhaps," he said quietly. "But why did you come up early? Are you sure you're alright?"
"Yes." She tipped her head toward him, with that sweet crooked little smile of hers, and she reached her hand out to him. He took it. "I felt a little out of sorts earlier."
"Oh," he looked her over. "What was it?"
But she only exhaled and shook her head, again, with her grin. "Just a little upset stomach. I think the honey-pears at luncheon. With the pheasant. Perhaps a bit rich." She burrowed down in the bed beside him, but did not release his hand. "I could hardly stand to look at dinner without turning a bit green, but I feel completely recovered now."
He drew her fingers to his lips and pressed them. Her wedding ring pinched at his kiss. "I'm glad."
"So am I," she whispered, and Robert peered at her. Her expression had changed. "And I'm glad you came up early."
"Oh?"
She nodded, and then, from where she had burrowed down deep in her covers, she stretched her chin up and kissed his mouth.
The thought occurred to him that he didn't want to be ill, for there were still two days left of shooting; but if she felt better, and indeed if she felt well enough to do this, then surely…
And then the thought evaporated at the feel of her soft hand against his skin, the way her long fingers slipped inside the waistband of the pajama bottoms, and the way her smile and soft laugh tickled his lips.
"Carson will wonder where you've found these," she wiggled the top of the bottoms, and Robert laughed, too.
"I haven't a clue how to explain it to him."
"No?" Cora looked up at him, her eyes bright, and she smiled again, but wider. "Tell him the truth. That you came up to make love to your wife."
"Indeed," he teased. "An explanation for all things."
She laughed, and she kissed him again. And again. And then the laughter stopped and Robert felt himself begin to float away to that place he seemed to always find with her. It was a place away from this bed, her room, away from their days and their nights and their thoughts. It was only him and only her and only the feel of her bare skin against his own and her breath in her ear.
And he loved her. As he moved inside of her, her darling hands at his shoulders and jaw and arms, he loved her so very, very much. The sensation of it behind his ribs floated him higher and away, and when he opened his eyes and found her looking up at him, he felt like a skylark swooping through a sky that was as bright, and clear, and blue as Cora's eyes.
In the golden lightning
Of the sunken sun,
O'er which clouds are bright'ning,
Thou dost float and run;
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
"Darling," he heard himself whisper, and then again, as he lowered himself to her dear cheek, "my darling."
He heard her quick inhale at the way he moved against her, his own body quickening and trembling at how it felt, and then again as her soft lips found the stubble at his jaw.
She nodded against him.
"Please," she said so quietly he had to close his eyes to hear her better. "I'm ready."
He moved against her again, and then, paused, catching his breath.
"What?"
"I'm ready," she said again. Her nose was nearly touching his own. "To try again. For a baby." She smiled.
Robert smiled, too, but shook his head. "Are you sure?"
Cora nodded quickly beneath him. "Yes. Please." There was a fluttering between his hips, deep in his core, and Robert pushed out a small gasp. "Do your duty." Her eyes twinkled, her smile deepened, and they both laughed, shaky, breathy, strange but wonderful laughter that drew him to her again, the floating now a delicious fire inside of him.
And he lost himself with her again, until at last, when he spilled inside of her, he heard her soft whimper against him.
"I love you."
He said it. Without thought, without even the smallest knowledge that he'd moved his lips, his tongue to form the syllables, he had said it. And beneath him, Cora's eyes flew open.
"Oh," she managed. "Oh," she said again, and he watched the corners of her mouth tremble upward into a smile. "Robert." And she kissed him.
. . .
Robert had slipped into his dressing room before Carson made his way in, happily realizing it was the second night in a row he'd spent all the night beside his wife. He'd also managed to explain away his strange choice of pajamas and the fact that he'd not called for his valet by the simple explanation of not wanting to bother him. His valet had furrowed his rather formidable brow, and said lowly, "Very good, my lord."
He didn't question Robert, and Robert, in turn, didn't offer any more of an explanation as to why he was dress peculiarly, why his dressing room's bed was still tidy, and why he was in the most spectacular mood he'd even been in in his whole life. And no, he didn't think it was a stretch to say it. It was easily the most beautiful morning he'd ever, ever had.
This thought carried him back upstairs to his wife after breakfast with the other men at Downton for the shoot. The other mood who hadn't the slightest idea why he was all smiles and laughter at breakfast, and why he'd had two helpings of the kedgeree.
He practically bounced down the hall and into Cora's room, excusing himself quickly as Perkins, Cora's maid of only a couple of weeks, moved past.
He waited until she'd left before he crossed the bedroom, and leaned down above Cora's breakfast tray to kiss her. But the breakfast tray didn't move, as was their new routine. She only kissed him chastely and then he heard her swallow as she looked down into her plate of eggs.
"What is it?" Robert lowered himself to sit on the edge of her bed, and Cora tipped her head.
"Sorry, darling," she closed her eyes. "Oh, I hope I haven't gotten you ill."
"Why's that?"
Cora brought her hand to her stomach, and grimaced. "I'm not well. Nothing terrible, but the eggs are certainly off-putting."
Robert stood and lifted her tray, moving it farther down, toward her feet, and then sat again. Cora leaned back against her headboard and grinned gratefully. "Thank you."
"Are you really ill? Shall I ask Mama to fetch Dr Warren?"
"Oh, no," she shook her head. "Perhaps a bit of rest. And perhaps a slice of toast. To settle it."
He nodded, reached behind him and retrieved a triangle of the toast from her tray. She nibbled a corner and brushed a few crumbs from her chest.
He sat quietly for a moment, and then, peered up at her. He wanted to say something to her, something to say how he loved her, how last night still left him twinkling and shimmering inside, but he found he could only smile and then look again away from her.
He heard her breathy, small laugh. "It was wonderful, wasn't it?"
He laughed louder. "Yes." He looked back at her and took her free hand into his own. "You were wonderful." He kissed hee fingers and delighted in her giggle. "Do you suppose you're …"
"That I'm … what?"
Robert lifted his brows.
"Pregnant?" Her giggle was now a guffaw. "Oh, darling. I wouldn't know that quickly."
"No, no," he tried to amend, but found himself laughing as well. He kissed her fingers again. "But…soon? You'll know?"
Cora's dark braid moved on her shoulder when she shook her head. "Yes, I should know within …" she paused and he watched her eyes look around as she thought. "In … let me think." She glanced up, and then narrowed her eyes. Her brow was furrowed. She shook her head. "Isla usually kept me in check. I – Perkins has been with me since the 1st. Today's the –"
"Friday the 24th."
Her hand went slack in his; and when her eyes met his, the tired, ill, but relaxed haze that had been in them had completely vanished and replaced with something more alive that he had ever seen.
"Oh."
"Oh?" Robert leaned toward her. "Cora, you're as white as this sheet."
He watched his wife take a breath. "It's gotten away from me," she whispered.
"What has?"
But by Cora's little noise in her throat, the way she knitted her brows, he realized it was that.
"Oh."
. . .
He'd enlisted Carson's help. Poor Carson, of all people, for he knew that Carson was not a spy. He'd had his valet ask Brady, a groomsman, to bring Cora to the village hospital, but because Robert's heart felt as if it would strangle him if she went alone, he'd also asked Carson if he'd ride alongside Brady. After all, his valet wouldn't be missed, but Robert would.
It was only by pure coincidence that the fog Papa had alluded to last night had hampered everyone's plans to go out to the shoot; and so Mama – ever the hostess – had organized a longer breakfast and tea, even extending out into the Great Hall, as the disappointed and anxious men hovered around one another, as if they were walking barometers, suggesting that the fog would clear by ten.
Robert was drifting to and from groups, catching Mama's eye, and then wandering away. Catching Rosamund's, and then immediately turning around. He felt ill. Anxious. Confused – thoroughly and completely confused.
No one had asked where Cora was, oddly. Was it not odd to anyone that Cora was not here? He'd been down, on his own for at least an hour, his eyes flitting to the front door and then wondering if indeed she'd come in the front door.
But then, as if in answer to his thoughts, he saw Carson standing near the stairs, with a small nod.
Robert rushed upstairs, just as clear, bright autumn light poured through the skylights above him. The fog had lifted.
"Cora?"
His voice preceded him into her bedroom, where, when he saw her, his heart that had threatened to strangle him before leapt up into his throat. She was smiling.
"Cora?"
She nodded. "He suspects that I am."
"Pregnant?"
He watched her as she nodded again.
"But," and then, all his other thoughts, all the thoughts that had been a hurricane inside his mind came tumbling out. "How is that possible? I haven't … I know enough to know I must – I've only just – last night –"
"- I asked Dr Warren."
Robert was silenced. He blinked at her.
"He -" she took in a deep breath, "He explained that the method isn't certain. Especially in instances when it is used multiple times in one –"
Robert cleared his throat.
". . . evening." Her voice trailed off, and Robert noticed the high pink color of her cheeks. She looked away from him.
"If you're embarrassed talking about this here with me, I hope you can appreciate my morning with the doctor."
"I'm not embarrassed," he responded, and to his surprise, he meant it.
Cora's voice was small. "He says that if by the end of this week there is no change, then I can safely expect a baby in June."
"June?" Robert swallowed, and then looked up at her. "A baby?"
Her eyes, so bright, were glittering. "A baby."
"Oh, my dearest one," he began to laugh, and he held his arms open as she embraced him. He kissed the side of her head, the top, the side again, and he heard her laughing, too.
"Darling, a baby."