Violets: Virtue, Innocence, Modesty

It was freezing. And late. Nearing midnight.

They'd left Downton after the wedding breakfast and reception to the sound of cheers and the sight of crowds waving little flags, hundreds out at the station in spite of the cold February day.

They'd laughed and smiled at one another as they bundled into the first leg of their journey. They weren't yet tired, and they'd both felt a great sense of success and pride.

They'd done it! Robert's Downton was saved. Cora's family could officially boast a future Countess to the Astors back at home. It had been a good day.

But as they'd connected trains at Edinburgh, climbing onto the last train of the night into Inverness, there'd been no cheers or flags. There'd only been Robert's gloved hand helping her own into their cabin, and suddenly, under the weight of Robert's hand, Cora realized the weight of the moment.

They were alone, away from Downton. Away from her family. Away from everyone. They didn't need a chaperone.

They were married. They were really married.

They were meant to be alone.

After that, the train ride was quieter. What had there been to say? It had been much too dark to point at some view outside for commentary. They'd had their meal on the first train so they struggled a bit for conversation, until at last Robert awkwardly produced a deck of playing cards. They played German Whist for a while — Cora absolutely dominating the game — and then Robert had attempted to teach her to play Put, with little success.

"So much for beginner's luck," she'd joked.

And he had laughed at her. "I think you let me win after beating me so soundly earlier."

She'd liked that. But then quiet had reigned again.

In the last hour of the journey, Robert had subsequently produced a small notebook of dates and places they'd see in March when they'd finally go off on their real honeymoon: Florence, Venice, and Rome. She had smiled up at him, and had stupidly said, "It's all so romantic. And I'm sure it won't be so awkward in a few weeks. I'll feel more like a wife, then."

Her husband of barely a day had only blinked at her, then clearing his throat, tucked his notebook back into his coat pocket.

She thought of it again now, hours later, and blushed. She buried her hands into the dip of her lap and stared at them, ignoring the small tug of a knotted curl the maid combed through.

She swallowed and pulled in a shaky breath down deeply into her lungs. Calming herself. He had known what she meant. Surely. For it was awkward! And though they had been married this morning, she had not yet become his wife.

Focus on the maids. On the sound of the fire. On how in the morning, I'll have experienced it. I'll know.

One more calming exhale.

Oh, she wasn't sure what to think. Weeks ago, her friends back home had told her what their elder sisters had said. They'd warned her to not be too eager, to lie still, that it would be uncomfortable — hurt, even — but that it would be over soon enough. "Think of something else while it's happening," Gladys had whispered sweetly.

This morning, though, her mother's only real advice or explanation of anything at all had been to suggest she try and enjoy herself. "Don't listen to those who say it's wrong to like it. Why shouldn't you?" Mother had smirked. "It'll help tonight to remember that."

She wrung her hands, her fingers spinning the new wedding band she wore, and she thought of him. What did he expect?

What did he know? She thought of his mother and frowned; Lady Grantham very likely did not give the advice Mother had given her. Or Lord Grantham.

Unless Robert didn't need advice. Unless he'd done it before.

Her thoughts stilled on that and she felt herself blushing again.

Oh. She hoped he hadn't. She'd like to be on even footing. She'd like to be his only, if that wasn't too naive an expectation. And maybe it wasn't? He didn't seem the roguish type at all. His behavior this evening had all but confirmed it. He'd been even quieter in the carriage the closer they got to Duneagle. He'd been extraordinarily quieter still as she was introduced to his cousin's husband's parents, the very distant relatives through Lady Grantham's sister's daughter they'd selected as just distant enough to host the newlyweds for the first fortnight of their marriage.

To get to know one another.

She could tell Robert had been just as embarrassed as she had been when Lord Flintshire had dismissed them, saying, "And good night! We won't bother you any more. Many congratulations," with a smile.

She pressed her palms to her lap. It would be all right.

Oh, for heaven's sake! She wasn't the first girl to ever be married, to ever consummate a union! Every person alive was proof enough of that.

She lifted her chin again as the maid placed the comb on the dressing table before her, and Cora looked at her reflection in the candlelight; her pale pink housecoat hid the rather see-through wedding night ensemble underneath. She'd trembled a bit as the maids had helped her into it, bashful and blushing … but strangely excited.

She shook that thought away as well. She stood, wrapped her housecoat tightly around herself, and walked around the stool towards the bed.

"Oh —"

She stopped and looked at the other maid, a maid of Duneagle. Older than Cora, by at least ten years, and by the looks of it, very tired, too.

"— but, would you like us to help you undress, my lady?"

Cora blinked.

The maid added quickly, "Only your housecoat. To straighten your nightgown."

She was older. Perhaps she knew better? And the gown had been made especially for this evening, ivory chiffon and lace, tiny blue ribbons at her throat and wrists.

Mother had spent a fortune.

But she didn't need to answer, for as she opened her mouth to do so, there was a small knock at the dividing door of the room. Cora and the maids stood still as Robert entered.

He wore a navy quilted dressing gown, a tiny green and gold threaded design woven through it. His slippers were green. His chestnut waves were a bit mussed. And there, just there, Cora spied a triangle of skin where his neck met his chest, the little valley there catching a shadow in the firelight. Cora felt her mouth go slack.

Beside her, the maids bobbed and left her and Robert alone.

"I apologize," he said after they had gone. Cora had felt the way he'd looked at her, and she wondered if he felt the way she did. "I should've given you more time."

"No," she shook her head and tried to laugh a little. "There was nothing left to do. They were just about to leave."

He nodded, and they looked at one another.

She watched his gaze go over her, and Cora heard the other thing her mother had told her — "he'll likely want to see you, so don't feel ashamed about that" — echo in her spinning head. She felt her hands go to the tie of her dressing gown.

"Oh," she said aloud as she untied it. "I suppose I should take this off —"

"There's no need!" His interruption surprised her. "That is, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable, or embarrassed."

"I don't," she heard herself say, and found that it was the truth. "Perhaps a little nervous," she added after a moment. "But, it was made for tonight. Seems a shame not to wear it properly. Unless you … don't want me to —"

"I do." His answer was louder than she anticipated, and her lips turned upward in a grin. Across from her, firelight still dancing over him, Robert tried to amend himself. "Of course I, I would like to see you."

She nodded. Mother was right.

She untied her pink robe and laid it on the dressing table's stool.

And then silence.

The fire popped, and Cora looked at it over her shoulder and then back at Robert's slippered feet.

She knew what she looked like. She knew Robert could easily make out every curve that had hitherto been hidden away from him behind drawers and stockings and chemise and corset and dress and coat. There was none of that now. The gown was meant to be transparent. It was meant to be "alluring," as her mother had said. And maybe it was, for he still stared at her, wordlessly.

She felt a little confused at that. She was no fool; she'd been told she was beautiful plenty of times, even if she often had trouble seeing it. But … she'd never been told she was beautiful naked. Was she … was she right? Was there a way to not be right? Was she what he had expected? He could see her waist and belly button. She knew he could. Maybe she was too thin?

Oh. Cora's face flushed hot and then cold, nearly immediately.

He could see her breasts. He could see her private areas that, well, that she'd not ever paid any attention to, maids having seen her naked for most of her life now.

But suddenly she realized she wasn't sure if she was beautiful, oh, but she did so want Robert to think so. To really think so.

But he wasn't talking. And he wasn't really looking away.

"I'm cold," she blurted, her voice catching, and she moved to the bed.

Oh, that wasn't alluring at all. Her stomach flipped as she climbed into open bed with the elaborately carved crest at the headboard. There was a red damask tapestry behind it, against the even redder walls. It shook when she moved.

Butterflies. A rapid pulse of nerves more frantic than before.

"Sorry. I was starting to feel a little underdressed," she eventually said, teasing, or at least trying to. Her voice sounded strained.

But it seemed to snap him from his trance. "Oh!" He tried a small laugh. "You're right. Of course." And Cora watched with widening eyes, and growing alarm, as he untied his own housecoat, laid it in the white and red striped settee at the foot of the bed, and revealed a set of rather plain pajamas.

Oh. They were so … normal. A blue-gray thick cotton with white piping around the collar and cuffs. She felt herself grin again.

"You aren't laughing at me?"

"What?" She did laugh softly from where she sat in the bed. "No. I'm … well, we're certainly dressed for two different sorts of parties, aren't we?"

He laughed, too.

She folded herself deeper into the bed as he came over, and then she felt himself do likewise beside her.

He hesitated a moment before, at last, she felt his warm hand through her gown at her waist, and then hip. She allowed herself to watch his face as he touched her, and she noticed the way his lips parted, slightly.

It made her want to kiss him, but that would be wrong. Wouldn't it?

He drew his hand away and back toward himself, still angled over her, slightly, and his eyes went to her face. "You really are beautiful, Cora," he whispered, and her tummy flipped. She found it hard to breathe again.

She smiled up at him, and taking a small chance, lifted her chin as an invitation for him to kiss her.

He did. But chastely, before he pulled away.

"I think I should say that I … that is … please do tell me if you need me to … if it hurts you —"

Her heart now beat madly. He was wonderful, just wonderful. She shook her head at him, quieting him, and she touched his face.

They kissed again. This time, less chastely. His lips were warm and she noticed now how he tasted very faintly of liquor, though what kind she wasn't sure. She didn't mind it. She liked the way he kissed her now. And though they'd kissed in such a way before, only once, when she'd returned from New York in the week prior to their wedding, this felt much different. He felt different without the perpetually starched shirtfronts and hard collars. She liked the way he felt now, soft and human. She liked the feel of the way his muscles moved against her fingers and palm as she pressed them on his chest. She liked the feel of his collarbone and the taut roundness of his shoulder beneath his pajama shirt.

She moved her hand and dared her fingertips to find the valley she'd admired earlier. It felt smooth and warm.

She melted a little at that, and not knowing why really, Cora opened her mouth more against his own and tasted the way his tongue touched her top lip.

He broke away with a small, breathy, "Apologies," and Cora swallowed.

"Alright. I'll …" he trailed off, and without any sort of instruction, maneuvered himself above her, guiding wordlessly with his legs and then hips her knees and thighs apart. His own body, at least the place between his thighs, did not yet touch her own and Cora was so grateful. "Please. Tell me if it hurts."

She didn't say anything, but she managed to nod.

His hand lifted her dress to her hips and Cora's eyes shot up toward the huge painting above the huge fireplace, past him. She was too frightened to look at him.

And then she felt him push himself against her, push himself against that place she gave little thought to, and her throat tightened. Her body grew rigid. It was not comfortable at all. It was not working! He couldn't — Her thoughts quickly went a thousand different directions like beads from a broken necklace. Was she wrong? He was pushing and his thing was hard, the tip of it against her not, but the force behind it was horrible. But how on earth? Was it that way all the time? How had she not noticed it? How did he hide it?

He pushed again, there was a small burn, and without meaning to, Cora gasped. "It hurts."

He broke away immediately. "Oh."

He was breathing heavily, and Cora realized she was too.

"I'm sorry," and she was. Oh, she was. "I got scared. We should try again —"

"Cora —"

"It's alright." She wiggled further down into the bed, closed her eyes, and thought of her mother's words. Try to enjoy it, she told herself.

She felt him over her again, and she let her hands find his arms, the muscles there. She liked that. And … she liked the way he smelled. And she liked the feel of his cheek against hers when he kissed the side of her mouth. Eyes still closed, she moved her face against his and pressed her lips to the side of his mouth.

He kissed her lips. And then again. And then, her breath hitched when his fingers touched her center.

Maybe he was trying to help. She nodded.

He pressed his fingers there again, pushing slightly, but it still hurt. She didn't say so though.

She nodded again.

And again, she felt the way he fumbled to grab himself, and she could smell his hair when he looked down between them to navigate, his curls in her face slightly. She liked that, too.

Oh — he pushed again, and she jerked away.

"I'm so sorry, I'm —" She brought her hands to cover her face. "I know we must," she said from beneath her palms.

"No."

"I've — It's that I don't really know what to do."

"Neither do I."

His admission was quiet, and from Cora's dark place behind her hands, she heard the little stall of her own breath at it. She wondered if she'd heard him correctly.

Slowly, Cora lowered her hands and she made herself look at him.

He rested on his heels, his head down. His face was reddened. His soft waves were more mussed than before. His pajama shirt was all askew, and with a hot flash of embarrassment, Cora noticed he was covering himself with his discarded pajama bottoms.

She brought her eyes back up to his face. He brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose and pinched it. His expression wasn't frustration, though, and when he let his hand fall again to his lap, he sighed. "Which, of course, is as plain as a pikestaff."

Cora wasn't sure what exactly that meant, but noting the small tone of shame that accompanied it, her heart ached in her chest.

"We needn't tonight. It isn't completely necessary."

"What?" She shimmied up to sit. "Of course we should."

"No. We could try later." He tried a small laugh. "I don't very well suspect that either of us can easily escape snowy Scottish Duneagle in the middle of February." He looked around the room, scoffing. "Seems to make more sense now. Forced confinement."

She tried to not let that hurt her feelings. She took in a breath.

"Let's try again." He looked at her, and giving up pretenses and good manners — what use were they at this point, anyhow — she tipped her head. "Why not? After all, it would only prolong the inevitable." She shrugged. "I believe in just getting things over and done with."

She couldn't quite read his expression then. The firelight dancing all around him. His eyes squinted slightly. His mouth made to smile, very, very slightly. And then a nearly imperceptible nod.

And Cora exhaled. Against her own extreme embarrassment — another useless emotion — she began to untie her expensive wedding négligée. Her fingers were shaky and tingling, trembling again.

"Mother suggested we try to enjoy ourselves," she couldn't look at him as she said it. "She mentioned it would make things easier."

She noticed he was not moving, but watching her.

She exhaled again. More nerves. She moved her arms behind her, slid the gown from her, and tipped over the side of the bed to drop it onto the floor.

She looked up at Robert as she straightened. "She also said you'd want to see me."

He moved his mouth, and shaking his head and clearing his throat, moved to unbutton his own shirt.

Oh. Cora's nerves tingled every part of her with overwhelming embarrassment, anxiety, but also a wash of desire for him.

He was beautiful and broad and … she wanted to touch him. She felt herself blush and looked down.

His pajama bottoms, which he'd modestly placed, had fallen a little and exposed himself. Accidentally she saw him, and then shot her eyes back at the painting above the fireplace.

What?

She felt all at once sinful, guilty, shocked, and confused. Now she had even more questions. How had that hurt? It didn't seem to be the hard prod that seemed impossibly too big to ever go in. It looked soft. It had moved from his leg as he had adjusted his position upon the bed.

Her face burned. Cora shut her eyes. No more of that, she told herself.

She laid down again flat on the mattress and waited for him to join her. Eventually, slowly, he did, but beside her this time.

She opened her eyes and her head fell to him. His head fell to hers, and they met one another's gaze.

"I must confess," he said quietly after a moment. Cora lifted a brow. "I hadn't the slightest idea this was such a process."

She laughed. "I knew nothing!"

He looked back up. "James always talks as if it's —" he cut himself off, and peered back at her. And said nothing.

And feeling braver, Cora timidly rolled herself toward him. And he to her.

Again, just as before, his hand went to her waist. Then her hip.

Unlike before, it was skin-to-skin, and Cora's flesh exhaled into goosebumps.

Oh. Oh, this she could enjoy. She let her fingers travel over his shoulder, his arm, and eventually, they were again kissing as they were.

He tasted divine. The weight of his hand and his arm on hers was delicious. The way he'd somehow angled himself over her again, yet one his hands was on the back of her neck, made her eyes feel warm and her limbs feel lazy and floaty.

And the butterflies that had eaten her belly alive earlier were now flipping and tingling, sensations she'd never, ever felt before.

When at last he put his fingers back against her gender, she didn't flinch. And he breathed heavily against her.

"Alright," he mumbled, and maneuvered himself over her again. Between her thighs again. And while he'd done so, she had managed quite well to keep enjoying it, to continue in her warm and floating state.

But then it had touched against her leg, and then inner thigh, and she'd stupidly looked down to find that it was no longer the soft thing she'd spotted before, but the large thing that had hurt her so.

Her mind could not make sense of that. And all the floating and warmth left her immediately. She was frightened.

Robert hadn't noticed though. She saw that his eyes were closed above her, and she watched as he leaned down to her and kissed her, and then kissed the side of her mouth.

"All right?" He repeated, lazily opening his eyes to see her.

And she nodded.

He pushed once, and nothing again. Cora felt at his arms, and squeezed them, encouraging him to try again.

She exhaled. He pushed against her again, and this time, he entered her.

It was somehow strangely quick and didn't hurt. Not like earlier. And Cora felt relief flood through her.

Wide-eyed, they looked at each other. Robert looked positively shocked, and she breathed a strange laugh at that. She'd done it. They'd done it.

She smiled up at him.

"I won't take too long," he breathed heavily again, and Cora furrowed her brow.

What? Wasn't this — but then he began to move against her, or rather in and somewhat out of her, and she had to swallow down a sharp gasp at the pain.

It burned.

She didn't know this part. She didn't know he'd have to continue. And it hurt again.

She whimpered, but did not want him to hear her. So she breathed deeply and evenly. She held at his arm. She tried to remember her mother's advice to enjoy it and felt angry with her.

She should have told her this. She should have told her this part! She should have told her all of it. His thing. The burning. How it was not simple and how it was utterly embarrassing. It would have been fine had she been told. But Mother never said.

And now since enjoyment was no option, Cora winced at a deeper thrust inside of her and thought of the ocean. Newport in June. And she tried to take deep breaths, as above her, her new husband's rhythm stiffened and then stilled.

He stopped. Cora let her hands go to his shoulders, and she watched him.

He was smiling. Oh, oh. She did like that.

She liked that very much; in fact, she … Cora's heart was suddenly in her throat.

She loved him. She did. She thought so, she'd told her mother that she did, but now she was more than sure. In that moment, him smiling down at her, him all glowing in the firelight and a glistening of sweat at his forehead, she'd give him anything to make him smile like that.

And when he looked at her, and saw her smiling too, they both laughed.

He pulled himself from her, which elicited another gasp, and when he looked down at himself he choked.

"Oh. I apologize. Oh, I —

Cora blinked. "What?"

"It's … you're — Papa said you should. I'll go."

She hadn't the slightest idea what he spoke of. "What?"

He was gathering his clothes, and inexplicably, Cora wanted to cry.

"I'll go so you can —" he nodded down at her, now propped up by her elbows on the bed. "Good night. I apologize."

She did want to cry, she would cry; her lip was trembling.

"Good night," she echoed, and couldn't decide if she wanted him to go or stay more. "I'll see you in the morning."

He nodded, and disappeared — still naked — through the dividing door.

She shuddered and she laid back against the mattress. And without reason, Cora began to cry.

"Oh my God," she shook her head. She rolled into herself and folded her knees against her belly. "Oh my God," she repeated, though she was unsure why.

She calmed herself, and taking in a long breath, down deep into her lungs, she reminded herself she was really his wife now. She'd see him in the morning. And everything would look better then.

A/N: This is an incredibly loud shout-out to ModernAmericanGirl whose headcanon is that Robert & Cora would've spent their first few married weeks at Duneagle, that Robert would have their honeymoon meticulously planned out according to tradition, and that he may or may not be savvy at cards (in lieu of awkward conversation). Thank you for letting me use your headcanons as my muse! xoxo