October's prompt: text messaging
It had all happened so suddenly. One moment he had been galloping along with the hunt, the sun warm on his back, a cool breeze blowing against his face. And in the next, he had hit the ground with a thud, the wind knocked from his lungs and a red-hot pain shooting through his leg. It hadn't required a doctor for him to know that his leg was broken— a fractured tibia the official diagnosis. But it had required a doctor to convince him that he would have to be on bedrest for the foreseeable future if he wanted his leg to heal properly.
It had been a blow to be forced out of the hunting season so early on and he spent much of his time moodily staring at his encased leg, willing it to mend so he could return to normal activities. On occasion the view would became too much to bear and he would resolve to not look at his cast any longer. But even when he forced his attention elsewhere: on a book, a solitary game, or some estate paperwork he had begged his father for, the brightness of the plaster still shone in his peripheral vision, mocking him with its never-ending reminder of all he would be missing. He knew by the time his leg had healed to the doctor's standards, both the hunting and shooting seasons would be over. And while it was wholly petulant and beneath his maturity, he couldn't help but sulk at the knowledge.
The one thing that had made his durance tolerable was his wife. His dearest Cora. She fussed over him, spending all of her free time reading to him, telling him stories to make him laugh, and sometimes just sitting in the quiet with him. But then she had gotten a small case of the sniffles that quickly turned into a full head cold, confining her to bed as well. While he hated that she felt so poorly, he had been looking forward to their mutual confinement. The prospect of getting to pass all day, every day with her brightened his mood considerably. There was one problem, however. She was in her room and he was in his.
Hearing a rustling sound, he tilted his head and peered around his cast to see Hathor slowly waking from her nap in front of the fire. Two chocolate eyes blinked open and met his gaze. Without hesitating, the yellow labrador eased onto her feet and pattered over to his bedside, her tail gently swaying.
"Did you have a nice nap?" he asked, scratching behind her ears.
In response, Hathor placed her head on his thigh and looked up at him pleadingly, huffing a soft sigh more akin to a whine.
"I'm sorry, girl. There is barely enough room for me and this bloody cast," he murmured. "But you're welcome to stay here and keep me company."
Seeing that her request had not been granted, Hathor snorted and shuffled back to her place in front of the fire, settling down with a soft groan. Even his dog had no desire to give up a warm place by the fire to keep him company.
Sighing in disappointment, he sank back against the pillows. Gently easing himself into a more comfortable position, his gaze fell upon the dividing door and his spinning thoughts circled back around to the one thought that had consumed him in his solitude. Cora. Her importance to him was something he hadn't fully realized until being forced from her company. And it confounded him. Who had ever heard of yearning for one's wife to the degree he yearned for her? He had even gone as so far as to request the dividing door be left open during the day so they could still speak with one another. But her sore throat and hacking cough had prohibited her from conversing. And after only two days of not being able to talk to her or even see her, he had become convinced that his sanity was slipping from him.
The silence, only to be broken by the occasional pop and crackle of the fire, continuously clanged in his ears. It should be no wonder some invalids were driven to madness. Such solitude was agony. He had no knowledge on the finer points of torture, but surely solitary confinement was one method. He would confess to almost anything to be free of this cage, to be free to see Cora. He had even tried to once. In a desperate attempt, he had tried to carefully slip out of bed and cross the floor to the dividing door just so he could get a glimpse of her to reassure himself that she was indeed real and not a figment of his imagination. But the plaster cast was much heavier than he had anticipated. And when he had tried to gently lower his limb, he had been unable to keep it from plummeting to the floor, the impact sending fiery pain reverberating through his leg. He hadn't attempted the action again.
Wincing at the memory and his own melodrama, he looked over at the stack of books that had been left on his bedside table. Cora had picked out most of them and had been reading aloud to him. But without her there, he had no interest in finishing them himself. It should bother him, he realized, this melancholia at the lack of her closeness. They had been apart before. But even during those rare occasions when he'd had to go up to London without her, they had been able to correspond daily via letters. And he was only a few more moments of torturous silence away from doing just that. Which of course would be utterly ridiculous since she was just in the next—
Getting a sudden idea, he grabbed a piece of waste paper from the stack his father had brought him and tore off a strip. He held his pen aloft for a moment, thinking of just what he wanted to write. Several things immediately came to mind, but he decided to start simply.
'How are you feeling?'
Rolling the slip of paper around the pen, he called to Hathor who had fallen back to sleep. When she heard her name, she trotted over to his side, tail wagging, and nuzzled his palm with her nose. He scratched the top of her head and slid the pen and note through her leather collar.
"Go get Cora!" he instructed, his voice excited.
The labrador took off into Cora's room.
Listening intently, he heard her soft laughter and warmth bloomed in his chest at the sound of her gentle mirth. After several moments of waiting, his stomach began to churn in anticipation. Perhaps she would think him silly and not respond.
But soon enough, the soft thump of Hathor's returning footsteps sounded. She lumbered over to him, resting her head on the edge of the bed. Affectionately patting the space between her ears, he removed the rolled paper from her collar and unwound it to find Cora's loopy script on the inside.
'Slightly better. I had some tea which helped my throat. How are you? How is your leg?'
As he read, he could hear her voice, the smile of her tone, the way she would caress each syllable in her distinct accent, and longing pitted his stomach. How he missed her. Tearing another slip of paper, he wrote a quick response and sent it off with Hathor.
'My leg aches when the morphine wears off, but otherwise it is doing fine. The worst of it is being deprived of your company.'
A moment later, Hathor returned with an answer and he quickly unfurled the paper, eager to read her reply.
'You flatter me. I'm sure you are relieved to have a break from my endless prattling.'
His heart sank as he read her words. How could she think such a thing? He had enjoyed every moment he had ever spent in her company.
'You are mistaken, my dear one, for I most assuredly spoke only the truth. Your presence has indeed been a balm to me during my convalescence. Your wit and charm have brought me immense pleasure and I find myself bereft without them.'
Her response came a few moments later, the teasing tone speaking for how much his unusual frankness had affected her. He could easily imagine the blush that would have overtaken her face as she read his words.
'Why Robert Crawley, if I didn't know any better, I would say you were exceptionally fond of me. My, my, what would the Ton say when they learned a viscount held a fondness for his American wife?'
He stared at her note, his heart pounding in his chest. '…what would the Ton say when they learned a viscount held a fondness for his American wife?' The sentence leapt off the page, the word fondness blaring up at him with a painful intensity. It inexplicably cut him deeply to know she thought he viewed her with only fondness. His feelings were much more than that. What he felt for her was stronger than fondness and much deeper than even affection. Didn't she know that what he felt for her was all-consuming, reaching a depth and a fervency that could only be described as— He inhaled sharply, his heart now racing, his chest aching as though he had been struck.
Love. What he felt could only be described as love.
Warmth flooded his veins as he finally allowed himself to admit to the truth. He loved her. It was so obvious, so painfully obvious. How had he missed it? The constant ache for her presence, the consuming thoughts of her, the ever present longing to make her happy, were all because he loved her. He loved Cora. Oh, how incredibly foolish he had been to not see it before.
He read her note through again, a burning desire to burst into her room and confess his devotion filling him. But his blasted broken leg meant he would have to delay such an action until he was healed. Except he didn't want to wait. He wanted to tell her now.
Catching sight of his pen, he reached forward and grasped it, holding its weightiness in his palm. His fingers itched to scrawl his confession onto the paper. But did he dare do it? It certainly wouldn't be the most romantic idea and Cora deserved to spoiled and romanced. But perhaps it would be the kindest way, to give her a moment to think of an answer. He knew how Cora had felt when they first married, but that had been almost a year ago. What if she felt differently now?
With a distinct sense he was taking the coward's way out, he wrote his answer, hand shaking. Reading it through several times, he then coiled the paper around the pen and slipped it through Hathor's collar, sending her into Cora's room before he could change his mind. The anticipation of her response was making him physically sick. He swallowed and forced himself to take a deep breath. Cora was anything but unkind; he had no reason to be so anxious.
Hearing the soft sound of footsteps approaching the door caused his heart to lurch. The nausea in his abdomen swelled and heaved as cold beads of sweat dotted his forehead and upper lip. He was afraid to read the note, afraid to even so much as look in the direction of her room. But when he finally forced himself to look, he discovered it wasn't Hathor in the doorway. It was Cora.
She stood stock still, dressed in her nightgown with her plaited raven tresses resting against her right shoulder. The redness shading her nose and upper lip along with the handkerchief she clutched in her hand were evidence of her persisting head cold. But it was her widened eyes that commanded his attention. They probingly bored into his, burning with an emotion he couldn't quite read.
"Do you mean it?" she rasped.
Gulping, he nodded. "I've never meant anything more," he murmured.
Tears welled in her eyes as she looked from him to the slip of paper and back again. "Oh, Robert," she breathed.
Extending his hand to her, he pulled her onto his lap and cradled her in his arms. Like a sleepy kitten, she curled into him, burying her face in his neck and breathing a sigh that sounded more like a purr. The soft, warm weight of her against his chest soothed him, allowing the days-long tension to finally dissipate.
But their embrace was short lived. Suddenly, she pushed away from him and turned her head, coughing into her handkerchief. For several minutes, he ran his hand up and down her back as he helplessly watched her attempt to get the attack to subside. When she was finally able to catch her breath, she wiped away the few tears that had been forced from the corners of her eyes. Looking over at him, she smiled shyly.
"I'm sorry," she croaked, her voice deep in her chest.
He shook his head and smoothed his hand over her hair before pressing his cool palm to her still flushed face. "Don't apologize. Are you alright? Do you need some water?"
"No," she answered softly, her blocked nose making her voice nasally. Sliding off his lap so she was next to him, she nestled up against his side. She still held his note in her hand and she passed it over to him, looking at him expectantly. "Read it to me."
Taking the slip of paper, he read— in his best American accent, "Why Robert Crawley—"
"Not that part," she interrupted, nose adorably scrunched. "I know what I said. I meant what you wrote."
"My mistake," he grinned, his teasing earning him an eye roll— another thing he adored about her.
"Robert, be serious," she stated hoarsely.
But he was serious. So terribly serious about her. He loved her fervently, ardently. The intensity something he didn't know was possible. And so he returned his attention to the note and read, emotion filling his every word.
"It is not fondness I hold for you, my dearest one, although that is certainly part of it. I love you, Cora. With every fiber of my being, I love you. Upon our marriage, I promised you happiness, unable to give you anything more. But now I promise my undying love and affection for you, my darling." Dropping the slip of paper, he wound his arms around her and continued, "My darling, my love, my Cora." Each pronouncement punctuated with a soft kiss to her forehead and each cheek.
"Robert," she whispered, moisture glistening in her eyes when he pulled away.
Entirely enrapture of her, he slowly leaned forward, intent upon joining their lips. But a gentle hand on his cheek stopped him.
"I don't want you to get sick," she explained, the corners of her mouth downturned.
He didn't care about becoming sick. He was already bedridden anyway. But he knew Cora would blame herself if he caught her cold, so he refrained from reaching around and kissing her soundly. Instead, he clasped her palm in his, her silken skin startlingly cold against his, and brought it to his mouth, his lips gently brushing the back of her hand.
"I love you," he murmured.
Her hand still in his, he brushed kisses to the backs of her digits, her knuckles and the tips of her fingers, her palm, and along the inside of her wrist. Each pass of his lips, each caress against her skin, was accompanied with a confession, a new vow to her. 'I love you, I love you, I love you. For ever I will love you. My darling, my love, my Cora.'