This is not the kind of chapter I had originally planned to post today as it does not necessarily fit the occasion of Cobert's 134th wedding anniversary, but it is needed for the story (I think). I hope you do not mind some more hurt coming your way.
There was no grand shooting event planned and prepared for New Year's Day for the Crawley family and their friends and acquaintances, not this year. They broke with that tradition upon Robert's vehement insistence. That came as a sudden surprise to everyone, since Robert usually took great joy in the entire event. Even Cora, who had tried her best to persuade him to keep their long-standing tradition going and thus keep him occupied, couldn't sway him. He simply did not feel like shooting anything, he said, and everyone respected that.
It seemed, though, as if he was not feeling like doing much of anything with anyone lately, and it worried Cora exceedingly.
Robert had been in exceptionally good spirits upon their return from America up until Christmas Day, which must have largely been due to her change of mind. She would never forget the gleeful expression on his face when he showed her the new interior of her sitting room. He had looked just like a proud schoolboy, presenting his best work yet. But since their Christmas dinner and listening to the stories they had all shared about his late mother, he had become quite glum and weary of everything around him. He went and hid away in his dressing room most days; or went on yet another extensive walk out in the freezing cold conditions with exceeding regularity, when otherwise he would have likely joined her in her newly refurnished sitting room. She knew that he needed that time for himself and so Core had previously decided not to question him about it, but it worried her immensely nonetheless.
As New Year's Day arrived, however, she could not take his newfound silence any more and decided it was time to talk to him. She simply could not board that train up to London the next day and start treatment in the London clinic when he was still in such a state, and worst of all still not talking to her about it. Cora hated not knowing what exactly kept troubling her husband, not knowing what was going on. It was a rare occurrence.
The countess got up from her chaise longue painfully slowly to hopefully keep her head from spinning so much and then left her renovated sitting room to go and look for him. Out in the great hall, she promptly ran into Parker — a circumstance she welcomed greatly. He would surely know about her husband's whereabouts.
"Ah, Parker!" she called out. "Do you know where I can find His Lordship at the moment?"
The butler stopped in his tracks on the way towards the green baize door and turned to face her, his hands clasped behind his back, much like he had always watched Carson do.
"I believe I last saw His Lordship in the library, my Lady," the young man said curtly as he bowed his head slightly.
Smiling pleasantly, she replied: "Wonderful. Thank you, Parker."
Cora walked on as quickly as possible to find her husband, hopefully in the library like the young butler had said.
Sure enough, she found him there. He was standing in front of one of the grand windows, gazing out into the wintery landscape of their estate. He seemed very deep in thought and took no notice of Cora entering, so she joined him at the window front. Still, he did not acknowledge her presence next to him. He did not even react when she placed a hand on his slumped shoulder. Only when she quietly whispered his name, he suddenly seemed to snap out of his thoughts.
"Goodness, Cora!" he exclaimed, panting from the shock.
"I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you."
Robert was still looking out ahead, entirely unwilling to turn to face her. That was quite odd, she found. Even in his current state of mind, he always greeted her, granted her small smiles or placed quick pecks on her cheeks and mouth. But none of that happened this time.
They simply stood there for a minute, shoulder to shoulder, gazing out into the vast white outdoors of the estate they called their home. Then, with her hand squeezing his broad shoulder gently, she softly said: "I think we need to talk, Robert."
After an agonizingly long pause, he asked almost numbly: "What about?".
At this, her husband finally turned around and quickly looked down, patting his pockets in search of something in his suit jacket. Cora, only very fleetingly, got a chance to see his face, most notably his eyes, and it startled her — they looked quite strained, red, and watery. He had been crying when she entered. Hastily, he wiped at the last tears on his face when he finally found his handkerchief in his left pocket.
Cora swallowed down the lump that had formed in her throat. Robert had never been a man to appreciate pity. "This, Robert," she replied softly, taking his big and warm hand in hers. "Something is still deeply upsetting you, and it only seems to be getting worse. You worry me."
Slowly and ever so gently, she guided him over to the settees and waited for him to sit down until she followed suit and took a seat next to him. They both sunk into the red cushions, and then silence settled over the library once more. When he did not show any intentions of replying, Cora decided to keep pushing for an answer.
"You've completely withdrawn yourself, dear. You go on these exceptionally long walks, you hide in your dressing room, you don't sit with me any more, you barely talk to anyone at all and now I find you in here, crying on your own. What happened?"
Robert remained silent, almost stoically. He was leaning forward in his seat, his elbows propped up on his knees, as he buried his face in his hands and stared blankly into nothingness.
Cora wanted to give him time, to wait for him to speak when he felt ready. But when the seconds of silence drew out and turned into minutes, she stood back up from the settee.
Crouching down in front of him, she put her hands on his knees and looked intently at him to gain his attention, like one would do with a child. This, finally, had some success, for he focused on her again, his pale eyes searching hers for a short while until he looked away again.
"It's nothing, dearest. I will be alright," he finally said after an agonizingly long pause. He wanted to sound encouraging, as if he truly meant his words, but he did not succeed. Not even his smile helped, Cora saw immediately it was a forced one. Not even him reaching out his hand to stroke her cheek helped his case, even though she loved the gesture and leaned into it.
"No, you won't," she said determinedly. "I have watched you for days on end now, and all it does is seem to get worse with each passing day. I cannot go up to London with you and start the treatment when all I would do is worry about your well-being. Talk to me, do not shut me out, please. I beg you, Robert."
He fleetingly looked up from the carpeted floor beneath his feet and into her face before turning away yet again. His gaze settled on the burning pieces of wood in the fireplace, his eyes watching the dancing flames while his hand was still resting on her face. Neither of them said a word, but Cora looked at him with desperation in her eyes.
"Robert, I-"
"I just need some quiet!" Robert suddenly shouted, standing abruptly. Cora almost fell backwards, grasping for the edge of the seat he just left to steady herself.
"Can't everyone just leave me be for once? I need to be able to think." He walked away, back to the window he had previously stood in front of. Sounding much less irritated, he said: "Everything has become so incredibly loud and fast and I cannot seem to make sense of anything as of late. Everyone seems to be moving on. Life seems to go on for everyone else but me." He turned back around, his voice decreasing in volume with every word he uttered and she saw his resolve slowly crumble in front of her. "But I don't want it to, not yet. She's not here and everything is simply too much right now," he whispered finally, sounding equally as desperate as he looked.
Suddenly, Cora understood. This was his grief. The shock and numbness that had become such an integral part of him in the months since his mother's death must have worn off and now, everything came crashing down around him. This was so unlike when Sybil had died, which is why she had not realised sooner, but it made perfect sense. This time, he did not have the estate to run and business decisions to make — Mary and Tom made those for him, now. And he did not have his mother to lean on, either. Essentially, she was the only thing her husband was still responsible for in his own house and he tried his best to help her where he could. He had kept it all together while they were in America and when they talked to the doctors, but over Christmas, the stress of it all had ceased and he finally found time to just have a seat and think.
"Robert, it is okay. I understand what you mean and this situation is quite overwhelming. Do not think you are alone in this, any of this, not even for a second. You can always talk to me, even if you only need someone to listen and nothing else. I am your wife, I am here and I am not going anywhere."
"See, but you are not!" he shouted again in desperation.
Cora couldn't help but flinch. She knew he had trouble regulating his feelings when he was upset, he always had. And he was most definitely upset right now. She could not blame him, not for any of this.
Robert saw her reaction, how she involuntarily cowered for even just the slightest of seconds, and he felt bad for exploding like that instantly. With a few quick, long strides, he was back at her side and sat down again, resuming his former slumped posture without looking at her even once. "Or at least we do not know for sure. I couldn't talk to you about this, no matter how much I wanted to. You have enough things troubling you already, you do not need to listen to me rehashing on about my mother. I do not even understand why I am feeling like this now, it is not as if we hadn't known it was coming. She was 86 years old and sick for quite a while," he said, not sounding bitter or angry or resentful, but rather very defeated. And there was truth in his words, Cora had to admit it.
"That does not change the fact that she was always there, for the entirety of your 63 years of life, and now suddenly she is not. Of course, this is going to affect you greatly. If I'm being honest, I would be more concerned had you not reacted like this eventually. Your mother might have been a difficult character sometimes — "
Robert involuntarily snorted a laugh at that. His mother being difficult was quite an understatement, he had to concede.
"— but she still loved you and only ever wanted what was best for you and Rosamund. She was always there, whether we wanted and needed her to be or not. She left this gigantic gap in all of our lives that we will never be able to fill. And we shouldn't want to. We won't forget about her like we haven't forgotten our Sybil in all these years, but we have to learn to live with the reality that she is no longer with us."
Robert listened, but he refused to look at her. The tears had re-emerged and he tried his best to keep his composure, taking deep breaths and closing his eyes. Looking at his darling wife when she was speaking these words that were cruel and so very comforting at the same time would make him lose it completely, he knew that for sure.
His voice was soft, gentle, barely above a whisper in the library when he replied. "I know that I could bear it if I knew I'd have you with me. I wouldn't be such a basket case if only your life weren't on the line. We're going to London tomorrow to hopefully help you, to save you, but there's no guarantee. There's no guarantee for anything in life, and the uncertainty is what keeps me up. It's gnawing at me, chewing at my insides trying desperately to find a way out, but there is none. There is simply no guarantee for anything."
"Oh, Robert," Cora sighed, gently stroking his cheek with tears in her eyes.