Downton Abbey 1. Chapter 1

Carson taps the corner of the telegram with his index finger. He wishes the action could knock the words off of it but they remain in black against white. He is wasting time, he knows it, standing in front of the door, listening to the buffered sounds of silver hitting china. He pivots, faces the tapestry on the opposite wall, studies the fraying fibers. He wants to let them finish dinner before entering. A door opens down the hall, closes hollowly. It is Mrs. Hughes. She stops near him, looking puzzled. He doesn't know why he hands her the telegram, perhaps to disprove the reality of its contents or perhaps to share the burden. She reads quickly, hand goes to mouth, a sharp inhale, her eyes opening wide before probing his own.

"Does his Lordship know?"

The question echoes around him. He is depressed with the thought of how much bad news he has delivered over the years. Despite the practice, he is no good with timing, or softening blows. Mostly, he blurts out announcements of death or disease or war in one breath, like throwing a grenade and then helps pick up the scattered pieces. He tries to rehearse the words in his mind before remembering he will only need to tell the staff. With his Lordship, he can just place the offending paper in his hands and let it speak for itself. Shaking his head, he takes a deep breath before gripping the brass knobs in his hands.

"Can you imagine if she's…" Mrs Hughes doesn't finish and Carson's hands pause before he slowly opens the doors.

Carson enters the dining room as James walks around the table, presenting a tray of asparagus. Robert waves him off, not caring for the vegetable before him. In fact, the sight of them dampens his appetite slightly. Oddly, they make him think of Cora. She would eat the noxious green stalks everyday if allowed. When Cora was pregnant with Edith, he was sure the child would come out green, his wife ate so much of it. Robert looks across the table at her empty seat, feeling a pang of loneliness. He had encouraged her to travel the continent with her mother and brother for a few weeks before they went back to America, business at Downton preventing him from joining. He can't remember the last time it is he who is left behind while she is away and he finds the halls of his home are not the same without her presence within them.

Deep in his own thoughts, he barely hears Carson's "telegram, milord" before the paper is placed in his hands. He vaguely wonders at the late hour before reading the words, his mouth stopping mid chew, the food turning offensive in his mouth as the meaning settles in. _Train derailment in Wales. Levinsons and Lady G unaccounted for. Rescue efforts proving difficult due to weather. Will contact with more info. Murray. _

He excuses himself quickly, not looking back at the confused glances of his family. His telephone call to Murray yields little more information. The passenger train crashed into a freight carrier due to a switch problem. Most aboard are still unaccounted for and a good portion of the carriages derailed and fell over an embankment. First class took the brunt of the damage. It was to be the last leg of Cora's trip, to visit an ancient friend of her mother's in southern Wales, before coming home to him.

* * *

Robert stares out the window of the library, a soft, lazy snow falling in the moonlight. Absently, he swirls the glass in his hand, the amber liquid going round and round, creating a vortex before he lifts it to his lips and takes a long drink. The brandy burns his throat and hits his stomach like acid. Grimacing, he swallows against the bubble of discomfort, trying to purge the sickening thoughts that won't leave his mind.

Robert had relayed the information to the family, trying to infuse his voice with as much optimism and hope as he could but his throat was tight around his words, a fiery pain lodging between his shoulder blades. Mary had been stoic and Edith had peppered him with questions and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from losing his patience with her. Tom had been wide eyed and grim faced and his mother had been silent for once. After telling them the little he knew, there was nothing left to really say, all of them quietly caught up in their own thoughts and they all slowly retired after a time, leaving him to his brandy and the snow falling beyond the glass.

The brandy does nothing to calm his mind as he wonders if she is alright. If she is alone and afraid? If she is...? He can barely think the words, but they dance there like a devil on the edge of his consciousness, taunting him. Surely, after being with her for over thirty years, he would be able to feel it keenly, like the tingling of a phantom limb, if she were truly gone.

"Papa?" The voice is softer and more tentative than that which usually comes from Mary. He turns slightly in his chair, and she enters the room in her nightdress and robe. "It's very late. Won't you go to bed?"

Robert tries to smile at her and shakes his head, his eyes suddenly burning. The cold of his dressing room holds no appeal for him, and yet he cannot bring himself to go to Cora's room and smell her perfume on the pillow and feel the emptiness where she should be laying. Mary ventures closer, picks up the brandy decanter and fills his now empty glass. She pours another glass and sits near him and Robert raises his eyebrows slightly before she takes a dainty sip. He finds himself chuckling despite his previous dark thoughts when she shivers and frowns at the harsh liquor in her hand.

"Are we really just meant to wait with nothing to go on?" Her words are spoken quietly but Robert can hear the strain in them. It mirrors the voice in his head and he cannot answer her. Instead he takes her free hand in his and squeezes it. Robert studies Mary's hand, its delicate features so like Cora's. He holds it tightly, this flesh made from half of his wife and he hopes that wherever she is, she may feel him somehow.

"She'll be alright Papa. She will!" Mary says emphatically and Robert wonders who she is trying to convince more.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day Robert stays close to the house, waiting for word. Tom keeps him busy with estate plans and there are correspondences for him to attend to, but he still takes out his pocket watch every so often, looking at the time, wondering. Dinner is a morose affair, everyone pushing around their food and waiting tensely for the telephone to ring. The usually mouth watering smells of Mrs Patmore's cooking make Robert's stomach turn. He is reaching the end of his rope, barely able to stand the uncertainty anymore.

"I need some air. Please excuse me. I'll be right outside the door if Murray rings." He doesn't wait for a response before getting up and rushing out of the room.

Robert bursts out the front doors, inhaling and exhaling rapidly, his breath pluming out in large puffs of cold smoke. He balls his hands into fists, clenching and unclenching rhythmically. He wonders if Cora has spent the night still stuck on the train, hurt and alone. An image unbidden comes to him of her cold and shivering somewhere in the mangled steel wreck and it is the thing that finally breaks him after 24 hours of trying to hold himself together. He covers his mouth with his hand as his body shakes and he sinks to the ground, hunched over and gasping around his sobs.

The quick approach of headlights cutting through the night propels Robert back to his feet and he starts in the direction of the front door to meet the car, breaking out into a run when he realizes it is Murray. He startles the other man and Carson, who has just emerged from inside the house. Taking a few moments to gather himself, he grips Murray's arm roughly.

"Do you have news?" He is able to get out, his heart still thumping wildly in his chest, the adrenaline from running spikes at the pained look in Murray's face.

"We should go inside Lord Grantham."

"Tell me! What is it? Tell me this instant!" Robert forgets himself as his voice rises, the panic he is feeling crashing out of him like a tidal wave. He wants to shake the man violently to get him to speak.

"Robert!" He turns quickly at the sound of his mother's voice. She takes him by the arm and he reluctantly lets go of Murray. The shaken barrister follows them in the house.

"I'm sorry Murray." Robert says quietly, slumping into a chair in the library. He is no longer sure he wants the other man to speak. In this moment, there is still hope. In a few more, there may only be despair.

Murray clears his throat, looking at the expectant faces before fidgeting with his tie and then sitting across from the earl. He waits until Robert meets his eye before beginning.

"I've received word that Mr. and Mrs. Levinson have been….identified." Murray stops, uncomfortably.

"Identified? So they've been found? And Cora?"

"Lord Grantham, they are…." Murray trails off.

Murray's words settle on him and Robert stands abruptly, his lawyer's meaning clear. He walks over to the liquor cabinet and pours himself a brandy, the decanter shaking against the rim of his glass as he pours. He vaguely hears Murray's "I'm sorry" and Edith's "oh no" then the room is eerily silent.

"What of Cora, Mr. Murray?" Robert barely recognizes his own mother's voice; lower and gentler and slightly broken.

"I'm sorry, Lady Grantham. I still have no news on her. Her lady's maid turned up however. Just some minor scrapes." Robert lets his head slump forward and Murray excuses himself, promising to call with any more information.

* * *

After dismissing Bates, Robert opens his dressing room door and enters Cora's bedroom. It has been two days since he was in there last and already the room feels cold and forbidding, a contrast to the usual warmth that envelops him there. Robert creeps onto his usual side of the bed and hugs Cora's pillow, staring into the darkness. This is his worst nightmare come to reality. He wonders how only two days ago he had spoken to Cora on the telephone, talked mundanely about her trip and news at home. He struggles to remember if he had bade her a safe journey back. Surely he had told her he loved her, hadn't he? He hopes so, but he knows he did not. It is not something he says often. But he thinks it, all of the time, and he begs for one more chance to say the words to her.

He recalls his words to Tom about great love creating great sorrow in death's wake, and with every essence of his being, he knows he will not be able to recover if she has passed. Before being pulled unwillingly into sleep, Robert does something he hasn't done in many years. He prays that God will keep her safe and bring her back to him.

_They stand on the platform, two people in a crowd of many hustling by. He takes in her face. She looks happy, eager. An image of her thirty years prior flashes in his mind, of the two of them standing on that same platform. He was saying goodbye then too, so that she may return to America to wait out their engagement. The parting had been awkward, two strangers who would meet again on their wedding day, but he hadn't been so daft then as to miss the first stirrings of ...something...at the sight of her bidding him a shy farewell. _

_The conductor calls for the passengers to board, bringing him back to the present. She is still so beautiful, more so even, now that he has had the past three decades to get to know every part of her. She stretches up, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. An overwhelming panic grips him and he surprises them both by pulling her close in a tight embrace. She is warm and solid in his arms and she chuckles, whispering in his ear that she needs to leave. Stubbornly, he shakes his head, horrified by the tears that come to his eyes. He has no idea what is wrong with him, but he knows he cannot let her go. _

_She pushes away gently and takes his face in his hands, looking at him with so much love it makes his heart speed up. "I wish you could come, Robert". He tries to grip her arms tighter but somehow, she is pulling away from him. Storm clouds roll overhead, blotting out the previously blue skies. "Cora, do not leave. Please." Robert's voice trembles. She tilts her head and she smiles that smile she reserves just for him. She strokes his cheek. "I'll see you again my darling." She loosens herself from his grip and boards the train. He runs to catch her but the train doors close. He watches as she takes a seat at the window and blows him a sweet kiss before turning to her companion and speaking. It is Sybil. "NO!"_

"Cora!" Robert leaps up from the bed, looking frantically around. The dark room begins to take shape before his eyes and he takes several gulps of air, trying to steady his breathing. Just beyond the window, the sun is rising on a new day. He runs shaking hands through his hair, unable to get a hold over himself. She had felt so real in his arms moments ago, the whole thing had felt so unbelievably real that her absence now is a physical agony. He let her slip away. He paces the room. The air seems too thin suddenly and he begins to hyperventilate, vaguely wondering if he is having a heart attack. Panicked thoughts take flight in his mind, one after the other, jumbled and repeating and his breathing grows more erratic as they fly away from his control, torturing him. She's dead. She's gone. I am alone. How do I live? What shall I do?

Robert composes himself by the time he is seated at the breakfast table. He looks at the others, sees his own exhaustion reflected in their faces. The vacant chair across from him taunts him like a bully in the schoolyard and he can't take his eyes off of the space. He can almost imagine Cora there now, a wry smile on her lips, a raised eyebrow, a slight shake of her head. Sighing heavily, Robert places his fork down and pushes his plate away.

"Papa?" Mary's voice is quiet and concerned.

Robert is struggling to answer her when Carson appears in the dining room, Murray quick on his heels. They all stand, momentarily throwing Carson off at the reversal of protocol.

"Murray, did you even make it back to London?" Robert jokes weakly, wanting to delay what news will come.

"Lady Grantham has been found." Murray states and Robert braces himself on the table. Edith comes close and grips his arm.

"Murray…" Robert hates how weak and pleading his voice sounds.

"She's alive! She was in hospital but now she's on her way back today." Murray's face breaks into a pleased grin.

Robert's legs tremble under him and he leans more heavily on the table. He closes his eyes, pausing, before opening them, "Thank God


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Robert shifts his weight to his right leg and stuffs his hands in his coat pocket. After a few moments he shifts to his left, pulling his hands up and crossing them over his chest. He then reaches for his pocket watch and flips it open, staring at the dial, the time showing it has been two minutes since he last looked. Exhaling loudly, Robert snaps the offending time piece closed and jams it back into his vest. He taps his walking stick against the wood below him. Turning swiftly, he paces the length of the platform, generating stares from the rest of the inhabitants at the depot.

He pauses further down, peering down the tracks, waiting. He somewhat regrets insisting that he come alone to meet her train, the presence of another would help channel his nervous energy. A train whistle in the distance breaks through his thoughts and he rocks slightly on his feet, waiting.

Once the train is secure in the station, it doesn't take long for the platform to fill with travelers. Growing impatient, Robert scrutinizes the faces coming down and peering out of the windows, unable to locate his wife. Growing slightly panicked that this has been a dream and she is still missing, his palms begin to sweat.

"Lord Grantham!" Robert spins in the direction of the voice carrying his name and he sees Baxter exiting third class, supporting an unsteady Cora in her arms. He rushes toward them and reaches for his wife, holding her closer.

"Why was she in third class?" Robert asks, confused.

"They wouldn't let me ride in first with her ladyship and she was...reticent...to ride alone." Baxter replies, her face giving nothing away.

"Robert, darling…." Cora's words are slurred and he looks her over, wincing as he traces the fine line of stitches at her hairline.

"She's a little bruised and battered milord. The doctors gave her something for pain. She held out for most of the journey but the last bit was very bumpy and she could tolerate it no longer." Baxter interrupts during his inspection.

Robert studies the heavy lidded eyes of his wife and carefully folds her into his embrace, burying his face into the side of her neck and inhaling, not caring that he is making a scene in public. He feels his lungs constrict as the trauma of the last few days settles on him once more.

"God Cora…." his voice cracks, "I thought I'd lost you."

"I am here." Her voice sounds far away and Robert attributes it to whatever drug is dulling her pain.

During the car ride back to Downton, Cora sleeps. Robert holds her, trying to cushion her from the jarring movements of the auto on uneven roads. Her head rests on his shoulder and he clasps her hand in his, running his thumb across her knuckles over and over. His other hand runs up and down the length of her arm and still he is not touching her enough to convince himself that she is real. Robert feels Cora twitch and a soft groan escapes her lips. She begins moving more purposefully, stretching and wincing and carefully tilting her head to work the kink out of her neck. Robert's arms itch to pull her back, his side suddenly cold where she has shifted away.

Cora stifles a yawn. "Where are we?"

"Almost at Downton." Robert replies softly.

Cora keeps her eyes on her lap, worrying a thread that has come loose on her jacket. Robert reaches over and covers her hand with his and her movements still. She turns her gaze out the window, but Robert can see the wetness on her bottom lashes.

"Were you told about..." Cora's voice wavers and Robert squeezes her hand."

"Yes." He tells her quietly. "I'm so sorry my darling."

Cora nods and quickly wipes at a tear but she remains silent. Robert cautiously puts an arm around her shoulder and draws her near and she tucks herself into his embrace, listening to his heart under her ear. The sound steadies her, chasing away the images that plague her.

* * *

Cora has barely been home for forty-eight hours when she finds herself talking about pear tarts and goose and Lobster Newberg, scribbling notes as things come to her. She avoids looking at the two faces across from her in the kitchen, their squinted expressions of concern or pity, or perhaps a mixture of both, playing at the tethers of her control. In two days time two dozen of Robert's family members will descend on Downton for Violet's eightieth birthday celebration and there is still too much to do. The preparations began months ago, before she had even left, the invitations sent and the itinerary planned. When she mentions it that morning after Robert insists she stay in bed, he looks at her with confusion, the turmoil of the last week apparently causing him to forget the upcoming soiree. She is glad no one thought to cancel it while she was missing as it provides her with the perfect distraction.

Mrs Hughes begins to ask about flowers and Cora describes an arrangement that comes to mind. Halfway through, as she scribbles a sketch, her pen wavers. Cora realizes her mistake. She has envisioned a spray of Martha's favorite flowers, not Violet's. She stops writing and the pen shakes in her hand, the ink spot growing dark and large where the tip is pressed viciously onto the paper. She's stunted, cannot make her hand move and her heart hammers in her ears as panic takes hold. Sounds come to her suddenly at the thought of her mother, of screeching metal and the smell of rubber burning. The memories she has managed to punch down into the depths of her consciousness are perilously close to the surface now but losing control in the scullery while her cook and housekeeper look on is unacceptable.

"Milady…" Mrs Hughes' quiet inflection of her title is followed by Mrs. Patmore pouring her a cup of tea.

The two women remain silent as she takes an eager sip, the hot liquid burning the roof of her mouth and she finds her composure in the bottom of the cup. After the brief hiccup they are back to business, wrapping up their meeting quickly. Violet will hate her flower displays anyway, so what does it really matter? Cora is grateful of the social lines that prevent the matronly pair from offering any sort of comfort beyond a gentle word and some warm tea. She leaves them to their days work, vaguely wondering what they must say about her once she is out of hearing.

Cora soaks in her bathtub, the warm water soothing her still sore body. She lays there, staring up at the ceiling, counting the fine cracks. She should speak to Robert about plastering. Perhaps after Violet's party they could do some sprucing around Downton. The ideas for future projects play out in her thoughts in a ramble as she tries to occupy herself with anything other than that which is waiting to pounce on her, should her mind suddenly quiet. And like an invitation, once she realizes she is actively trying to not think about the accident, images rush in and Cora closes her eyes tight and a whimper escapes her lips.

_Harold drinks his coffee, Martha comments on an article in the paper she is reading. Cora looks out the window, nodding at her mother, only half listening. A baby cries a few seats away from them and Cora thinks of George and Sybbie, how much they must have grown since she's been away. She is glad that their trip will be coming to an end. She misses the children, and Robert. The train curves around a bend in the landscape, chugging at a fast clip, making the cars sway slightly. Harold comments at the motion, a barb at European driving, before returning to his coffee. He is across from her, his back to the coming track but Cora sees as the engine clears the curve. There is a large mass on the tracks, an equally big machine chugging just as quickly toward them. She feels a jolt in her heart and sits up straight, leaning forward, knowing something is not right but unable to think fully of what it is. Her face must betray something of the fear she is beginning to feel as Harold quickly twists in his seat, trying to look behind him. Martha stands at the moment the trains whistle blares and the conductor applies the brakes. Cora gasps as the motion sends her mother hurtling into the seats across the aisle. Harold turns back to her, eyes wide and grasps her hand as metal impacts metal._

Bates has just started to dress him for dinner when he hears Cora screaming his name. Over and over, the sound is primal and terrified. His legs carry him through the adjoining door to her room and then into the bathroom where she sits in her bath, clutching the sides of the basin. Her eyes are wild and she gasps in between her yelling. Robert skids to the floor by her and calls to her, running his hands up and down her arms. Her eyes are focused on something only she can see.

Slowly the train car fades away and Cora is aware of Robert's face, inches from hers. Beads of sweat dot his hairline. The tense wrinkles in his forehead start to smooth out as her breathing evens. He lifts a cautious hand and brushes stray strands of her hair away from her face.

"Would you like to tell me about it?" Robert says his words evenly. She has found ways to avoid any conversation with him since coming home and he has been loath to press her but it is torture for him to watch her suffer silently.

Cora closes her eyes and shakes her head. "I can't Robert. Perhaps soon, but not now. It's too…" Her words drift off and Robert touches her lips with his finger.

* * *

Mary tries not to stare but finds herself looking across the table at her mother more than usual. She has been unnaturally silent since coming home and they all tiptoe around awkwardly, unsure how to behave. Her mother looks fragile to her, something they should put under glass and preserve for her rarity. Mary wonders what it would feel like to be the last of your family, like an almost extinct tribe, how lonely it must be. She's not one for waxing poetic, she leaves that kind of whining to Edith, but the death of her grandmother and uncle has shaken her a bit. The almost loss of her mother has stalled her. She can't help but look around her and wonder which one of them will be the last man standing. Granny will probably bury them all.

Robert's version of small talk is to suggest cancelling the party, skirting around the bigger issue of what to do with the remains of Martha and Harold Levinson. Their lawyer is on his way to England and has asked about plans but Cora refuses to acknowledge that a decision must be made. He doesn't like the idea of her crossing the Atlantic to bury them in New York while they slosh around in cold storage, several decks below her. He would go with her of course, but he would rather keep her on firm land and close to home in the state she is clearly in. He thinks the last thing she needs is to go on some new journey after the tragedy of the last one.

"We could bury them in the family plot." He offers and everyone goes silent.

Even his mother cannot get around her shock to declare it inappropriate dinner conversation. Robert is desperate for things to say, to make it better, to get Cora to speak. He has seen her faces of grief many times now. After the baby she was stoic in public but in the safety of their room she would unburden her guilt on him. After Sybil she said biting, angry things meant to bruise and wound but at least she was speaking. She was hurting and sorrow laden and flailing but she was something. Now, she is a wax figure, her reactions slightly delayed, a little vacant. With the exception of him finding her screaming and shaking in the bathtub, she keeps everything tightly held within. She is a shadow playing the part of Cora and it makes him panicky and off center and he blurts out silly things.

"They aren't Crawleys." Her voice is hollow but at least he is able to get three words out of her. That is a start.

"No, but you are."

She looks at him finally, a lingering look, not one of the sideways, skittering ones she has perfected in the last few days. Her eyes are impossibly blue, clear, accented by faint bruises sinking into the depths of her face. Already she looks worn from a mourning that she has yet to truly begin. Something about the questioning look in her eyes unnerves him, as though she isn't quite sure of his words. He becomes uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

Finally, she speaks again. "If you think it's best."

* * *

She's never thought too hard or long about the silence of Downton at night, until recently. Cora looks out the frosted window over the eerie fog covering the grounds, the rhythmic sounds of Robert's snoring breaking up the quiet. Her new nightly routine consists of lying in bed, pretending to sleep until Robert's breathing evens out and then carefully slipping away, to either sit in the settee or down in the library, vigilantly fighting the images that threaten her when she closes her eyes. She is weary down to her bones but it is manageable compared to what waits for her in her dreams.

No matter how hard she tries to forget, she finds herself back on the train. Whether waking or sleeping, she will be in the middle of something and suddenly the earth is moving below her and people are screaming and there are broken bodies and smoke. When she was in the hospital, they told her how lucky she was, that most of first and second class was lost, but she feels the opposite of it. The doctors marveled at how she escaped with only a deep gash and few bruises. In the antiseptic room she began to feel something akin to when she lost the baby, that somehow she had been unfairly spared. The feeling has taken root since the accident, festering into something toxic and spinning out of her control.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The activity in the house is claustrophobic. The dinners, the ball, the endless hum of too many people in the same space. Rosamund appoints herself buffer between Cora and Violet, intervening when she senses her mother is about to voice a displeasure or point out a shortcoming. Cora is thankful for the armor and although she welcomes the distraction of the festivities, they leave her exhausted and her defenses falter. Baxter finds her in her dressing room in between activities, sitting and staring and letting tears fall noiselessly. The woman is discreet, as always and aside from a kind look goes about her business. She wonders how pitiful she must seem, that in a great big house full of people she cries alone. Baxter doesn't know, but O'Brien would, that it is sometimes better this way. Cora is around for encouraging words and advice and to listen. Her deeper feelings are too American and foreign and therefore best left to the shadows.

Robert enters her room before dinner. Baxter is no longer in attendance, but still she sits at her vanity, shoulders bowed and head bent, the delicate bones of her vertebrae straining against the skin between her hair and the back of her dress. He hasn't been this perplexed by her since their first months of marriage, and it loosens his moorings a little. She seems so lost and the island she has placed herself on seems out of his reach. He knows there are things she is keeping from him, he can see it all wearing on her, slowly, but he is clueless as to how to help her.

"I wish you would speak to me, Cora." He takes cautious steps towards her, watches her reflection in the mirror as her eyes close.

"I speak to you Robert." Her lips barely move with the words, they are carried out on her breath.

He is inches away, close enough to see the muscles in her throat tremble. He traces a feather light touch down the curve of her neck, cupping her thin shoulders with his hands. It is an inner struggle not to fold her close to his chest and keep her there, protected, suddenly feeling that she is temporary.

"We should be going down." She pats his hand and signals that they are done.

* * *

Cora loves to dance and usually jumps at any excuse to do so, but it feels wrong to twirl around the floor so soon after losing her mother and brother. She doesn't begrudge the rest of them but she sits out the waltzes and watches, getting lost in the dizzying motion of bodies. She is glad to see Mary dancing with Charles Blake and Edith dances with some gentleman Charles brought from London. Even Tom is paired with his new friend Sarah. She wants them all to find happiness again, after so much pain, but she cannot muster the strength to allow herself the same.

"You've done a marvelous job the last few days, my dear. Thank you."

Cora is startled from her thoughts as Violet settles down near her. She gives the woman a brief nod and a weak smile before turning her attention back to the dancing figures. She can feel her mother in law's eyes still upon her, appraising as they always do. Through the years she has become successful at resisting the urge to shudder under that inquisitive stare.

Cora turns to her again. "You are welcome. Happy birthday."

Violet's eyes display an inner struggle as she searches for what she wants to say and Cora prays that she is not suddenly going to become sentimental with her. She knows the woman is capable of kindness and love, she shows it in her own way to the girls and Robert. Their own relationship has been complicated. In Violet's own words they have been more ally than friend, and so any warmth shown is usually a means to an end. Cora really has no desire to hear what Violet wishes to say to her, especially if it concerns Martha. Violet is always scathingly clear on that subject.

"Cora-"

There must be something in Cora's eyes that silences the words her mother in law is about to say. She can feel something like wild terror bubbling in her chest. Violet tentatively covers Cora's hand with her own.

"We were all so worried for you. You should allow yourself some rest. You've been through an ordeal."

"I must be seeing to your cake! It's getting late." Cora gets up quickly, her need to get away as strong as her need to breath. The older woman looks briefly hurt and Cora fleetingly feels bad but she pushes that aside and looks to find Mrs Hughes.

* * *

The switch from the celebration of Violet's continued good health and the achievement of another year of life is so quickly replaced by the somber tone of the Levisons funerals that it makes everyone dizzy. Most of the attendants barely knew the Levinsons, if at all. Cora seems to be holding up, from afar, seamlessly transitioning from birthday fete to memorial luncheon but Robert knows it is a facade. He can see the crumbling happening quicker now. She clings to him at night with a desperation she has never displayed before; her sleep erratic and plagued. He needs to remind her of things, from the silly to the substantial: the name of the Levinson's lawyer for the third time; that it is tea time and she must eat something. He finds her wandering the house, a puzzled and far away expression on her face, as though seeing it for the first time.

They sit down to meet with Martha's lawyer after everyone has left the house and Robert wishes again that they had been able to delay this. Cora sits in the large leather chair, letting her head fall back for a moment and closes her eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of her nose while Robert closes the door to the library. She thinks he doesn't see her, but he does of course and although he can empathize with Mr Jones for wanting to get back to New York immediately, he still holds him responsible for causing Cora more distress.

"Lady Grantham, Lord Grantham. I'll be as brief as possible. Mr Murray and I have already had a chance to jointly look over the paperwork and everything looks in order. Let's start with the tangible assets…."

Robert is glad that Murray is in attendance and on top of matters. He is too preoccupied with Cora to effectively take in what the man is saying. He talks of plans to send over jewels and personal effects. Robert makes a mental note to arrange sending it all to Murray's office first, to be collected and held for when she is ready. Next is the matter of property of which she now owns. Cora nods mutely next to him, looking through the man and Robert wonders how much she is really taking in. If he is feeling slightly overwhelmed he can't imagine what is going through her head.

"Now we come to finances. There are several accounts, as well as investments and holdings, in both your mother and brother's names. As I believe you are aware, at your mother's death, Harold was to get the remainder of her fortune. Harold in turn named you his sole inheritor in the event of his passing."

"So I'm to be an heiress once more." Cora states it flatly, her tired words breaking the silence. "How lovely."

"To the tune of three million US dollars. Not including the real estate, art, and anything else of value in the houses." The lawyer sits back and closes his portfolio.

"Good grief." Robert cannot help the words coming out of his mouth. The figure boggles the mind. He knew the Levinsons were wealthy, even back when they were courting, but he had been very young then and it all was handled by their fathers. He hadn't paid attention to the particulars. Perhaps a common faulty thread running through the tapestry of his life.

"Lord and Lady Grantham, we can discuss at a later date what accounts the money should be wired to and then I will be in touch with Mr Jones. Nothing needs to be decided or handled at this moment." Murray says gently.

"The only remaining business is this." Mr Jones reaches into his pocket and produces a sealed letter, yellowed and aged. "This is for you Lady Grantham, from Mrs Levinson, to be delivered to you at the time of her death."

Cora looks up finally, her eyes wide and staring. She reaches for the letter and Robert stands, wishing to dismiss the gentlemen quickly. A part of her would like to throw it in the fireplace before reading. Her mother is...was….a practical, unsentimental woman and she doubts there will be an outpouring of maternal last words. There will be no reflections on the past, no _what ifs_, no _sorry fors_. All of the things she herself would tell her daughters, all of the shortcomings she would apologize for, all of the love she would try to convey with her last breath will not be found in her own mother's last communication. So what can remain to be said? She leaves it sealed, something to be tackled in privacy.

"Cora…"

"Robert, I'm very tired. I think I will lie down." She touches his arm briefly in passing and then vanishes out the door. It seems these days he is forever watching her retreating from him.

Cora climbs the stairs slowly, feeling her heavy, beaded dress pulling her down. The upstairs gallery is quiet, save for the muffled sounds of play coming from the nursery. Turning from her own door, Cora starts further down the hall and into the brightly lit room. Her entrance triggers a squeal from Sybbie, who runs to her and wraps her little arms around her legs. Feeling suddenly warm and light Cora sweeps the child into her arms and grips her tightly, eliciting more giggles from her granddaughter as she twirls her around. George sits at her feet, looking up at her with a gummy grin and big blue eyes. He bounces, waving his arms and Cora lowers herself and Sybbie onto the floor beside him.

Sybbie runs across the room and brings back two cups and saucers, ready to play tea time and Cora loses herself in the game and her granddaughter's endless chatter as she carries on a commentary of their actions. Sipping her pretend tea, her mind wanders, fatigue settling on her once more, and she doesn't notice Sybbie toss aside her own tea cup, suddenly interested in George's toy.

"Look Grandmama!" Sybbie shouts excitedly.

Cora stares at the box in Sybbie's hands. Her granddaughter presses a red button and sets the train set at her feet into motion. Cora watches, transfixed as the passenger cars rattle around and around the elaborate maze of tracks. Her heart beats in her throat but she cannot tear her eyes away until Sybbie presses another button and the train's whistle shrieks, echoing around the room. Cora stumbles to her feet and presses herself against the door, her hand clutching her chest and breathes deeply, trying to calm herself when the two children look at her with startled gazes.


	5. Chapter 5

Cora sits in the library, biting absently at her nails, focusing on the dying embers in the fireplace. Behind her, the grandfather clock chimes twice and she pulls the blanket around her shoulders tighter. The whiskey in her glass starts to go down easier, now that she has had a few sips. As her eyes become heavy she hazily chastises herself, realizing that her drinking has not only calmed her nerves but also relaxed her to the edge of sleep, the last place she wanted to be. She sets her glass down just in time as her eyes slip shut and she snuggles deeper into the sofa.

_She is on a train, chugging steadily through golden fields of wheat and corn. The sun is high in the sky. Harold is near her, they both press sticky hands against the window panes, remnants of the cakes their father bought them streaking the clean glass. Soon the forward motion of the locomotive slows and they slide off of their seats eagerly. Cora holds fast to her brother's chubby hand and runs down the aisle toward the exit, their father following quickly._

_An old wagon awaits them and her father hoists them into the open back. At eight she is already worldly enough to know their transportation is outdated. At first she wrinkles her nose at sitting on the hay in her new dress, but soon the novelty of bouncing around in the back with Harold becomes fun and she gives in to enjoying the ride._

_Quickly they arrive at their destination, a lone farm house miles away from the next homestead. Cora recognizes it immediately and taps her feet impatiently, waiting for her father to help her down. Once he does, she runs to the house and takes the steps to the front porch two at a time. She has completely left the proper young lady that her mother has painstakingly been molding her into behind in Cincinnati. Here, at her aunt's house, she can be as wild as her little brother._

_The woman meets her at the door with open arms and shining eyes. She bends to Cora's height and embraces her tightly, inhaling the scent of Cora's hair. Visits to her Aunt Lily's house are always a special treat that Cora looks forward to. The woman spoils her and Harold although she secretly knows she is her aunt's darling, pictures of her as a baby and toddler kept on her bedside table. Aunt Lily always wants to hear everything about what she has been doing and what new things she has learned and Cora feels warm within the adoring gaze of her aunt. _

"_Let me get a look at you!" She says in her soft voice. "Isadore, she's growing like a weed."_

_Tears run down Aunt Lily's face when the time comes for them to say goodbye. Cora feels empathy at her aunt's sadness and thought she looks forward to another train ride, the woman's emotions are clouding her own._

"_Once you move to New York, it may be a very long time until I see you again." Aunt Lily whispers. Cora only nods her head._

"_I love you very much." Her father's pretty sister kisses her on each of her cheeks and then holds her for a few beats before letting her go._

* * *

"Papa?"

Robert grunts, half aware of the voice calling him. He turns onto his back and blinks his eyes open, noting the darkness of the room. Mary is leaning over him, her hand shaking his shoulder. Robert sits up quickly, noting the emptiness on Cora's side of the bed.

"What is it? What's happened?" Robert is already struggling with the tangled bed sheets, trying to extract himself from the bed.

"There isn't any emergency, Papa. But Mrs Hughes came and woke me. The night footman found Mama sleeping in the library during his rounds." Mary's raised eyebrow and slight smirk calm him and he puts his slippers on in a less harried manor. "Apparently the poor man was frightened out of his wits."

When Robert enters the library, Cora is curled on the couch and doesn't stir at his intrusion. Roberts waits, contemplating his options before taking her in his arms and carrying her out of the library. Cora half senses that she is in motion, still in the lazy grip of sleep. With eyes closed she recalls her strange dream. She hasn't thought of her aunt in decades.

* * *

The weight of the letter rests in her hands and Cora traces the curves of her inked name with her fingertip. Biting her bottom lip, she taps the letter cutter against the envelope, undecided. The toast she managed to swallow down that morning churns uncomfortably in her stomach now. Contemplating the fire burning across the room, Cora's legs itch with the urge to walk over and toss the letter in. With a large exhale, Cora swipes the blade over the delicate paper and pierces it, ripping a jagged line across the top. With trembling hands she pulls the pink sheets of her mother's stationary out of their casing and unfolds the pages.

She reads the words before her for a second time, just to make sure she has gotten it correctly. Methodically, she stuffs the letter back into the envelope and numbly walks to her amour, taking out a large bag. She stuffs the letter in their along with a few essentials. Looking out the window she watches Robert and Tom walk to the outlying farms. Grasping the handles, Cora leaves her bedroom and quickly traverses the house, evading Carson and heaves the front door behind her. She finds the chauffeur buffing the wheels of the car and after startling the man, asks him to take her to the train station. Too busy fighting the nausea that overcomes her, she does not look behind as Downton fades away.


	6. Chapter 6

"Should we go into the village?" Edith asks, the pitch of her voice taking on that whine it usually does in times of stress. Mary rolls her eyes while still peering out of the window, arms crossed and absently pinching at her bottom lip with her fingers. No matter how many times she looks, there is still no sign of her father.

"And do what exactly? Ask if anyone has seen Lady Grantham wandering about?" Mary snaps.

Edith sighs, "You needn't be so nasty all of the time!"

Mary is about to respond when Mrs Hughes and Carson appear at the door of the Drawing Room. Carson clears his throat.

"Well, anything?" Mary tries to temper her impatient question.

"I'm sorry milady, no one has seen her and there isn't a sign of her anywhere. Miss Baxter did say that…" Mrs Hughes pauses looking sideways at Carson. "...there was a bag missing from her ladyship's amour and a few other items from her room."

"Well, have you spoken to Smythe?" Mary asks, looking from Carson to Mrs Hughes. "She didn't just float out of here and walk. She had to have been driven somewhere!"

"He was given the rest of the afternoon off for some personal business milady, but as soon as he is back we will be sure to ask him." Carson's somber face mirrors his tone.

"Well, I dare say there are quite a few long faces in here!" Mary rubs her forehead at the sound of her grandmother's voice.

"Mama's gone!" Edith blurts out.

Violet raises one eyebrow, incredulous. "What do you mean, gone?"

* * *

Mary steals glances at her father, not daring to say anything. He looks straight ahead, the muscle at the hinge of his jawbone pulsating, his pale lips in a grim line. She thinks about the last twenty four hours, how her father went from frantic once learning of her mother's disappearance to fury once Smythe returned to Downton, nonchalantly telling the agitated household that he had dropped Lady Grantham off at the train depot earlier that morning. She can't recall ever seeing her father throw glassware, but he did last night. She sympathizes with him, has the same warring mixture of complex emotions that he is feeling and so she insists on joining him the next day as they trace her mother's steps.

Robert and Mary walk into the great hall of Grantham House, met by silence and darkness. Sheets are draped over the furnishings, protecting them from dust and light and Mary shivers involuntarily, the cold of the house and the ghostly shapes playing on her imagination.

"Could she really have come here? There's no staff!" Mary wonders.

Robert grunts and she follows her father as he quickly opens doors to shuttered rooms and looks in, no sign of her mother on the first floor. Mary runs to keep up as Robert takes the stairs two at a time and he rushes into the room her parents share when in London. She sees her mother sitting in the large bed, propped up by pillows. The anger she felt at Cora's impulsive departure fades seeing her now. She only hopes her father's is as quick to dissipate. Mary winces in sympathy as her mother's whole body jerks and her face blanches at the sound of their arrival but Cora quickly recovers and looks away, staring into the corner of the room once again.

Robert moves quickly to her side, bending down and looks her intently in the eyes, though she refuses to meet his.

"Are you alright?" Robert's voice is loud and sharp in the stillness of the room. Mary notices her mother's lip tremble slightly before she gives her father a short nod, her shoulders squaring, as though bracing herself.

"Do you know what you have put me through? The family?" Robert's voice starts out flat and overly calm as he stands straight once again.

Robert paces away from her and takes a deep breath while Mary holds hers. She thinks perhaps his tirade is done until he whips around and she sees how red his face has gotten, the way his eyes bulge in their sockets. Without thinking, she steps closer to the bed. Mary knows her fear is irrational, but she's never seen her father so angry before. He marches back to Cora's side.

"ANSWER ME!" He shouts and Cora's arms, wrapped around her waist, hug tighter and she closes her eyes but remains silent. It pushes Robert over the edge.

Grabbing the duvet, he whips it off of the bed, uncovering Cora completely and then grips her shoulders severely, shaking once until she looks at him with wide eyes.

"How could you be so selfish! How could you-"

"Papa!" Mary jilts herself out of the shock the scene before her has caused and says his name forcefully.

Mary's voice jerks him out of his blind fury and he realizes Cora is standing in front of him, still in his painful grasp. He hadn't been aware of pulling her from the bed. She is looking up at him, her mouth open and eyes swimming in building tears. Bile burns his throat and he lets go of her quickly. Mary moves to Cora's side and puts a hand tentatively on her mother's shoulder, but she shrugs it off and then reaches into the table by the bed, opening a draw and producing an envelope. Wiping her tears she looks Robert dead on and holds it out to him, the envelope wavering in the air slightly.

Mary's eyes bounce back and forth between her mother and father. Her father's brows begin in furrowed concentration and they slowly rise up into his forehead as he scans further down the page. His hand goes up to his mouth and he looks at Cora in disbelief. Mary feels her stomach flip.

"This cannot be." Robert whispers.

"Go back to Downton, Robert. I've booked passage to America. I'll be gone tomorrow." Cora's words are flat.

"Wait-" Robert steps to Cora, who turns her back to him.

"What is going on?!" Mary can take it no longer.

"Tell her." Cora states, her back still facing Robert.

Robert looks at his daughter, unable to get over his own shock and put what he's learned into words. He has so many questions and no one to give him answers. He wishes he could reach into time and stop Martha from putting on paper what she felt compelled to share, guessing the damage it will cause, that it has already caused. His desire to take Cora in his arms is overwhelming and he starts towards her, ignoring Mary as she throws up her hands and sighs.

Seeing Robert approach, Cora backs up in response until her back is against the hard wood of the bedroom door. He tilts his head and looks at her so gently, such a contrast from earlier, that she feels her knees start to tremble. She swallows convulsively, willing her emotions away as she slides down the wall, shaking her head, hoping he will stay away from her.

* * *

Rosamund sits across from him, sipping tea that her cook was kind enough to make after arriving with his sister at Grantham house. Mary sits at his side, staring into the freshly lit fire. She hasn't said a word since reading the letter, has only bitten down her thumbnail to the skin, a habit picked up from Cora.

"Do you think you can tell me what is going on?" Rosamund asks, her usual sly grin retired for the evening as the somber atmosphere weighs them all down.

"Martha left Cora a letter, to be opened after her passing." Robert starts, keeping his voice low. "Cora read it yesterday, alone and then left Downton, coming here."

"What could it have said?" Rosamund leaned forward, genuine concern lining her features.

Robert cleared his throat, unsure where to begin. "Cora apparently is not the biological daughter of Martha and Isadore…"

"Dear God!" Rosamund stutters. "And she never knew?"

Robert pushes himself off of the couch, his legs feeling like lead and lifts the sheet off of the liquor cabinet. He walks back to his sister and daughter with a whiskey bottle and three dusty glasses. Mary almost laughs as her father takes off his suit jacket and uses the inside lining to dust off the crystal. They could all use a drink. Her eyes lift to the ceiling and she thinks of her mother, finally sleeping after Rosamund's personal physician arrived with a heavy sedative. Robert takes a generous sip of the amber liquid.

"No, they never told her, obviously."

Rosamund takes a long sip, digesting the information. "Well, who…"

"According to Martha's letter, Isadore's younger sister, Lily, found herself...in trouble and they took the baby. Cora…" Robert rubs the bridge of his nose, a dull headache that he has felt all day becoming more painful as the night wears on.

"Oh dear…" Rosamund replies.

* * *

She doesn't get out of bed the next morning. The house is warmer now that someone is there to light the fire. Robert brings her a tray and she vaguely wonders where he got the food and who he finagled to cook it but she doesn't touch it. Robert sits in an empty chair, contemplating her for a while and she begins to feel self conscious and awkward. Cora picks at the duvet and finds herself speaking.

"What is the female equivalent of bastard, I wonder. Do you know Robert?" Her voice cracks and she purses her lips together and squints her eyes in concentration as she focuses on a piece of thread that has come loose on the bedding.

Hearing the rustle of clothing, Cora looks up as Robert approaches her. She closes her eyes as Robert continues to advance, cautiously, like approaching an animal in a snare. Behind her eyelids, the room is replaced by darkness, the iron smell of blood in the air. The groans of people dying hovering around her. She gingerly sits up from her where she woke, wedged underneath her seat. Martha calls to her weakly. She crawls to her, brushes matted hair out of her face. The older woman says she needs to tell her something before her eyes become vacant and her mouth stops moving.

Robert sits, witnessing her face tighten as some unknown scene plays within her mind. She lets a soft moan escape from her lips. He gently picks up one of her hands and folds it within his own, bringing it to rest against his chest.

"Robert, you should take Mary and go back home." Cora tells him quietly.

"I'm not leaving without you."

Cora opens one eye and looks into his face. Her stomach clenches at the sorrowful downturn of his mouth and the concern that clouds the blue of his iris'. The watering she sees in his eyes causes her own to sting and she feels her throat tighten. She is sure she is close to breaking into a million pieces.

"Robert…" She trails off, unable to speak.

"I've never been so afraid Cora, watching you these last few weeks, as you fold in on yourself." She keeps her eyes on the button of his collar but feels his breath on her forehead. "You don't eat, you don't sleep, you barely speak. And then you just leave. You were already slipping through my fingers and now I fear you won't let me help you at all."

"I cannot see my way through any of this, Robert." She whispers, her voice pleading. She needs him to fix it all somehow.

Robert gathers his wife in his arms and pulls her close. "We will get through it. You are still my wife, the mother of my children, the love of my life."

Quite suddenly, either from the tone of his voice or the lovingness of his words, it all comes crashing down on her, like a load that has been teetering for far too long. The Titanic, the war, the marriages and heartaches of daughters, the deaths of children and births of grandchildren had not knocked her down, or perhaps had but she always bucked up as expected. There was always someone else to nurse, comfort, console. Now it is only herself. For the first time, Cora questions who she is. Her history is rewritten by the implications of Martha's letter. Her future is laden with guilt by walking out of the train alive. Her present is a dredge she cannot pull herself out of.

Robert feels her devastation as her shoulders shake under his embrace, before he hears the sound of her crying. Pulling her tighter he anchors her as best he can. And though her grief is mighty and loud and quakes them both he thinks she'll be better for it.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/n: Thank you everyone who has followed and reviewed so far. Hopefully you haven't been disappointed so far. The following chapter really came about because Cora and Mary's relationship intrigues me and I think it should be explored more. Enjoy!**

* * *

"I cannot go back there Robert." Cora says with quiet determination and Robert almost chokes on his tea. He puts his teacup down and catches Mary's eyebrows raise over the rim of hers.

"Cora…" He tries to sound sympathetic and not condescending but the last few weeks have left him frayed as well.

"I've made up my mind already." She states and folds her hands in her lap, pulls her shoulders back and looks at him with her head high and face calm.

He feels his own blood pumping faster and pauses before speaking. "Darling, it has been our home for over thirty years. Of course we'll be going back to Downton. All of us."

Robert speaks to her as though talking to a dull child and for the first time in weeks she feels something aside from grief and fear and numbness. Her muscles tighten and she balls her fists, springing to her feet.

"No! It has been YOUR home! And for thirty years I have been reminded that I am just the fill in Countess. The American that doesn't quite get how things are done here….still! God, the disdain even comes from my own children." Cora gesticulates wildly as she speaks, her tone full of anger. Robert actually sits back away from her on the couch. Mary's jaw is slack.

Cora continues, "At least before I could ignore the eye rolls and the side barbs because I was proud that the worst blight against my family was that they DARED to work for a living and make something of themselves. But now?! You really expect me to go back there and face your mother? And tell her what, exactly? That I'm the daughter of a whore and some nameless man she took into her bed!" Cora's voice turns shrill.

"Never mind the servants! I can't very well go back and parade around the house like some grand lady when I'm really nothing better than the trash they throw away." Cora turns on her heel and hurries out of the library, leaving a stunned Mary and a flabbergasted Robert sitting motionless.

* * *

Mary can count on one hand the number of times she has heard Cora's voice rise above it's usual dulcet tones. She has always found her mother's penchant for looking on the bright side rather annoying and has dismissed it as the effects of a less than sharp mind but Mary has recently wondered if perhaps she doesn't know the woman at all.

After Cora leaves the drawing room, her father mumbles a few words about needing air, and she is left with her tea getting cold in it's ornate cup. Mary watches the clock's hands tick through the hour before moving off of the sofa and up the stairs. She arrives at her mother's bedroom door, hesitant with the task she has given herself but knocks anyway, not waiting for her mother to reply before slowly opening up the door.

Mary pauses in the room, looking about confused. She had expected her mother to be in bed or balefully gazing out the window but instead finds her sitting on the floor in her dress, pulling three giant hat boxes out from under the bed, an awed expression on her face and her hair coming loose from its moorings. Cora looks up as a floorboard that Mary steps on creaks and smiles briefly at her daughter, her earlier anger seemingly fizzled out.

"Whatever are you doing?" Mary asks.

Cora shakes her head. "I had forgotten I moved these to the London house. The memory of them just popped into my head as I was sitting here and I went searching."

Mary goes closer and sits near her mother, her nose tickling as the older woman wipes away dust on one of the boxes before opening it. It is full of a mishmash of items and Mary peers in curiously.

"What are these?" Mary asks.

Cora either doesn't hear or ignores her question, now wrapped up in the contents of the box she opened. Her hands find and then hold up a tiny baby bonnet, yellowed and fragile with age.

"Can you believe your head was once this small?" Cora asks her, her eyes glistening. It is then that Mary looks back down and realizes that each box has a label fixed to its lid. Mary. Edith. Sybil. All carefully written in her mother's loopy script. Mary, watches mesmerized, as her mother pulls out more items. A curl of baby hair that must have been hers. A birth announcement. A rattle.

"Is that a tooth?!" Mary stutters, not sure whether to be fascinated or disgusted.

"It was the first one you lost…." Cora says.

"I think I remember this bear!" Mary spots a brown bear amongst the remaining items and gingerly picks it up. It is missing an eye and the fur is matted and worn down in the places that the toddler version of herself use to rub it and kiss it.

"You never went anywhere without that bear…" Cora says softly. "I made your father buy three more incase he was lost. You would hold him in your little hands so lovingly and just stroke his face and tell him stories…"

While Cora speaks, Mary unconsciously brings the bear close to her chest, snuggling him a little before becoming aware of her actions. Feeling self-conscious she puts the bear back in the box quickly. She watches as Cora fingers through the rest of the items, lingering on a few silently as she recalls some distant history. Mary's throat tightens slightly, thinking of her mother squirreling away pieces of her and her sisters childhoods, cherished mementos. She's never thought to preserve anything of George's.

Mary remembers being a small girl and being fascinated by her mother. She spoke in that rolling, soft way, so different from the clipped precision of everyone else around. Cora's smiles were bigger, her eyes wider, her expressions grander than all the other adults. Kisses and hugs were given out freely. Mary would watch her get ready for dinner or a ball and think her the most beautiful and elegant woman in the world. Her father would come in and she would turn her cheek up gracefully for a brief touch of his lips to her impossibly perfect skin. Mary would go to bed dreaming of being her mother one day. Her biggest desire was to be as pretty and perfect as the woman laughing and dancing downstairs.

Of course, Mary cannot tell her mother this. Perhaps if she were Sybil, or even Edith, she could relay how much she adored her as a child. But the emotion sticks uncomfortably in her chest. And to tell her this would require the need to tell her when it changed, when the subtle denouncements made by her grandmother began to influence the voice in her own head that told her Cora's way was not the English way and therefore not THEIR way. Instead, Mary clears her throat and her mother looks up, expectantly.

Studying the pattern of the hatbox, Mary says quietly. "I was forever telling Matthew that he shouldn't pay attention to the things I say."

Cora's eyes are blank until comprehension settles in and she realizes Mary has circled back to what she said during tea. She pats Mary's hand reassuringly.

"It's alright, darling. I was just having a self indulgent moment I suppose."

Mary continues to avoid her mother's gaze as Cora puts the contents of the hatbox in order and places the lid carefully on top. "I should know that it's the duty of daughters to regard their mothers through a critical lens. Afterall, I did the same to my own…" Cora's voice falters slightly, "...mother. She embarrassed me mercilessly when I was growing up. She was larger than life. When your father proposed and I realized that it meant an entire ocean would separate me from her I was almost indecent in my enthusiastic acceptance."

Mary chuckles in sympathy with the picture of her loud and brash grandmother in her mind. "Well, I may have done my share of eye rolling and condescending but I never tried to put a body of water between us. So you can't have been all that bad."

Mary's words produce a slight twitch in Cora's lips as the corner of mouth turns up in a half grin. She feels a lightening in her limbs at the first signs of something approaching mirth in her mother's eyes. She wishes she could be the Mary contained inside her mother's memory box, the one who snuggled and loved like a child and who undoubtedly would tell Cora all of the things within her heart and all the things her mother needed to hear. But since she is not she hopes this will do for now


	8. Chapter 8

Robert folds up the newspaper he is holding in agitation and slaps it onto his lap after reading the same paragraph twice without retaining a single word. A slight rustling of movement to his right makes him tense up, not wanting to risk waking Cora with more of his movement. With Cora deep in the grips of slumber, Robert is free to examine her openly. His inspection of her lined face and tense jaw cut him, her continued upset his albatross as he grapples with what to say and do. He sighs and swipes a hand over his weary eyes, thinking about the two days of cajoling it took to get her on the train back to Downton.

The slightest whimper pulls Robert from his ruminations and he is once again focused on his wife. Her distress grows yet she remains asleep and he curses the sleeping tonic Rosamund's physician administered a few nights ago. Cora's continued reliance on it is one thing on a long list of others that make him edgy and nervous for her. He has had to rouse her from nightmares the last few nights so he doesn't hesitate now, gripping her shoulders gently and pulling her to him, stroking her arm and attempting to shield her from the sideways glances of the other train passengers. Cora wakes with a gasp and a jerk and her trembling hands grip the arm he has placed around her waist. Her labored breathing slows as her eyes take in their surroundings. She regains her composure quickly, mindful of the other people around them, and slides slightly away from Robert. The pallor of her complexion and a fine bead of sweat on her upper lip are the only remnants of her anxiety. Robert exhales loudly in frustration as Cora peers out the window, silently.

"Cora, you cannot keep doing this." Robert says quietly.

"Doing what, exactly?" The tone of her voice should be a warning to Robert to leave the subject but he will not this time. He has given her space and deferred to her wishes but now he feels it is critical to push her.

"Refusing to speak about the whole thing!" Robert's voice rises a notch. "It's been weeks!"

Cora spins on him, the intensity of her blue eyes piercing him. "Now is not the time or place, wouldn't you agree?" She hisses before turning away from him again.

Robert leans in closer to her ear. "It is never the right place though, is it? And how about the time? When will the right time be? After you've driven yourself mad with the weight of it all?"

Cora snorts. "You're one to talk Robert. When is the last time your English sensibility allowed you to speak so freely about what was in your heart and mind? About your fears?"

Robert leans away from her, wounded by the severity of her words. After a few moments of tense silence Robert cautiously reaches for her hand, which rests in her lap, balled into a fist. Cora resists at first, but then relents as he gently uncurls each finger and places her palm in his.

"You are right, of course. But I'd like to think under your influence I've gotten better through the years, at least in speaking to you if not the world at large. And I cannot help wanting to be as attentive a listener to you as you have been to me."

"Oh Robert," Cora's voice quivers as she squeezes his hand.

**Robert presses his lips above her ear and continues. "When I came home from the war, you knew just how to gently coax all of the horrors I had seen out of me. It was a weight you took off of me, to speak of the nightmares to someone who had my best interest in their heart."**

Taking a steadying breath, Cora closes her eyes, sinking deeper into the comfort of Robert's arms. "They are mostly the same, really. I'm back on that train and Mother and Harold are sitting there, in the middle of drinking and talking when it happens. I can see it coming but I don't comprehend it….the impact. And then there are the smells and the sounds of people dying and metal twisting and there is pain and its like I am trapped in that moment again it's so real I cannot escape it and I am sure that I'll die on that train but somehow I don't."

Cora's voice fades off and she looks out the window again at the passing landscape, not really seeing the fields or the quaint farmhouses as they pass.

"Recently I've been dreaming that I wake up after the accident and I find Mother and I am kneeling over her and she's dying but she wants to say something to me. She says she needs to tell me something but I always wake before she does and I try so hard to stay there to hear it but the words never come. I cannot remember after the crash Robert. I don't know if what I'm dreaming is true. What if she confessed the whole story in the moments before she died?"

Robert tightens his hold on her when the first of her quiet tears falls on the sleeve of his jacket.

* * *

Mary sits across from her grandmother, Edith and Tom, barely moving in the silence that descends after she says her piece. Tom's expression is blank but the affection he has clearly developed for her mother and his own upbringing would dictate that the news has the least impact on him. Edith squirms uncomfortably, pursing and then relaxing her lips, reminding Mary of a fish and she feels herself wanting to slap her sister. Her grandmother, of course, has an unreadable expression and this is the one that worries Mary. She had told Robert that she would travel ahead of them to explain the situation to the family, and she is glad that she did. Hopefully the initial shock dissipates long before her mother gets back.

"Granny…" Mary warns, "I know there is a comment or two lurking in that mind of yours. I think it will do everyone well for you to dispense with them now and get it out of your system before Mama and Papa arrive."

Violet pulls her shoulders back and raises her eyebrows in innocence. "Mary, I haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about. This family fell into dissolution long ago. I'm no longer surprised by what I hear nor have I anything to say."

Mary sighs heavily and shakes her head and mutters, "I find that hard to believe."

Edith shifts in her seat once again, "I don't think you are being fair Mary. Granny isn't as harsh as all of that." Her own precarious situation and the secret the old woman has kept for her front in her mind.

"Thank you Edith." Violet says triumphantly, patting her granddaughter's hand before leveling her gaze at Mary. "Even I can see that this is not your mother's doing. She's an innocent bystander in this convoluted story. However, THAT woman…"

"Granny!" Mary interrupts harshly.

"What? She isn't really your grandmother now is she so you've no need to defend her." Violet waves her hand dismissively. "I can't help but think she is laughing in her grave at the moment. She lied to us thirty years ago and then perpetuated it all this time. For as large as your mother's dowry was and as charming as she may have been, your father never would have married her if the truth had been known to us all back then! That's all I have to say."

"Well, I knew as soon as I stepped through the door that I was so glad to be back home."

The entire group startles at the sound of Cora's voice at the door of the library. Edith's eyes bulge and Tom looks away quickly. Mary swallows down the slight wave of nausea that bubbles in her stomach. She knows by the shine in her mother's eyes and the way her father's face turns a vicious red punctuated by a pulsing vein in the middle of his forehead that they've heard.

"I think I'll retire. Please excuse me." Cora whispers to no one in particular, leaving the others to avoid Robert's enraged eyes. He gives himself a few moments to get his emotions in check and to make sure Cora is no longer within earshot before turning to his mother.

"Are you quite happy with yourself?" Robert asks in a dead calm voice.

Violet turns to her son finally and although her eyes are downcast she sits straighter than an arrow. "Robert, how was I to know you had arrived? I would have never said anything to her."

"But you felt the need to vocalize something so hurtful behind her back! To her daughters no less!" Flabbergasted, Robert tosses his hands in the air before stomping out of the room and following after his wife.

* * *

Cora sits on the bed, waiting. She knows Robert will come up to check on her. The ache in her throat never progresses beyond a dull clench; she's too tired of her own tears to shed anymore. Pushing herself up, she goes to the window, staring out at nothing in particular but even this sets her on edge. She looks around the room, feeling claustrophobic suddenly by all of the things crowded into its space; most of the knick knacks are not even hers, inherited burdens that have been there since her first days at Downton. Cora has the dueling impulses of either crawling under her covers to hide from them or smashing every last vase. Her fingers tingle with the urge and she unthinkingly grabs the closest thing to her, some Faberge egg she's always despised, and lifts it slightly before slamming it back down. The sound of its delicate material shattering lifts her mood, swells her chest with a momentary power. It only takes a few moments before the pain registers and she looks down to see a shard of crystal sticking out of her palm. She winces as she pulls it free, just as Robert walks into the room. Putting her hands behind her back, she carefully steps in front of the table containing the remains of the destroyed decoration.

Robert is momentarily confused at finding Cora just standing in the middle of the room, however it's better than what he imagined he'd walk into. They stare at each other for a few beats, trying to read the thoughts of the other. Robert is unable to gauge her mood by the neutral expression she has forced on her face. He sighs heavily.

"Cora, I am sorry-"

"Robert," Cora cuts him off and shakes her head. "Don't apologize. It isn't as though I wasn't expecting it. Besides…"

Cora's voice fades off and she cocks her head to the side, her expression now turning sad even as her lips stretch into a thin smile. "What she said is the truth, isn't it?"

Robert's heart speeds up and he holds his breath for a moment. She cannot possibly expect him to answer such a hypothetical question and yet Cora doesn't move. She is watching him, waiting. Robert swallows convulsively and sweat causes his collar to stick uncomfortably to his neck. His silence seems to be affirmation enough.

Cora nods her head. "I see." She exhales heavily and finally turns away from him.

"Cora!" As her arms come unclasped from behind her back Robert sees the steady stream of blood flowing from her palm. He goes to her quickly and takes the wounded hand in his, pressing his handkerchief to it. It is then that he notices the smashed egg on the table. His eyebrows furrow but she looks blandly at him, offering no explanation.

"Cora…" Robert's voice is sorrowful.

"Shh, it's alright, Robert. I have, nor have I ever had any illusions on why you married me." Cora replies quietly, looking at their hands instead of at him.

Robert cups her chin and lifts, forcing her to meet his gaze. Despite her words he can see the hurt clouding her eyes. Cora carefully pulls her wounded hand from his and shrugs away, walking toward the bathroom and shuts the door behind her, closing herself off to him. Robert slumps on the chair of her vanity and cradles his aching head in his trembling hands. For every step forward they make it seems they inevitably take two back.


	9. Chapter 9

"Yes, thank you, that should do it. Thank you for all of your help." Robert eagerly replaces the earpiece on the cradle of the telephone and claps his hands together.

The grin on Robert's face catches Edith's attention as she rushes toward the front door, intent on a visit to the Drewe's. She stops, curious at her father's heightened spirits. The revelations about her mother's family and her grandmother's ill timed comments have cast a pall over the already somber Abbey over the last few days. To see her father happy is a change.

"Papa? Good news?" Edith inquires.

Robert puts his hand on his daughter's shoulder and leans in, conspiratorially. "Can you keep a secret?" Puzzled, Edith nods.

"I've booked a trip for your mother and I!" Robert cannot keep the excitement out of his voice and Edith tries to keep the grimace out of her responding smile. She's not quite sure how this new development will be received by her mother, who tries but seems unable to pull herself out of the depression she is in.

* * *

Robert searches the house for Cora, wanting to tell her of his plans before dinner. Not in her room, he finds her in the nursery, her retreat of choice. Sybbie is in the middle of pinning paper flowers in her grandmother's hair while George sits on her lap systematically pulling them out. He stays at the threshold, not wanting to disturb the play before him. Cora admonishes George gently when he sticks a flower in his mouth and deftly pries the paper out of his hands. When the baby's lips turn down and his eyes begin to water, Cora places a soft kiss on his forehead and the boy quickly recovers, sharing a toothy grin that elicits a content chuckle from his grandmother. Robert sags slightly against the door frame, a flood of ease washing over him to see her this way. Unconsciously he exhales and it startles her and Cora turns, blushing when she sees it's him.

"I didn't mean to intrude." Robert says softly.

Cora shakes her head and places George on the floor, pushing herself up. The baby follows her with his gaze as she rings the bell. "It's time for their nap anyway."

They each plant loving kisses on the children's foreheads and leave them to Nanny before quietly exiting the room. Robert takes hold of Cora's arm.

"I wanted to talk to you about something." She raises an eyebrow in question and he ushers her into their bedroom.

Robert's enthusiasm is palpable and Cora can't help but smile. "What is it darling?" She asks.

"What do you say about taking a trip? Just you and I." His words catch her completely off guard and her smile falters.

The change on Cora's face is instant and Robert feels a bubble of doubt in the pit of his stomach and then disappointment clogs his veins pulling his shoulders down in defeat. "Forget it dear. It was silly of me to bring up. I just hoped a change of scenery…." He cannot continue around the lump that has suddenly formed in his throat.

The idea of traveling makes her slightly nauseous and bone tired but the pathetic droop of Robert's shoulders silences her flat out refusal of his idea. She knows that he is trying, that he hates to see her so unhappy. Cora contemplates his suggestion. Perhaps he is right. She sits on the bed, weary of her own melancholy.

"Did you have a place in mind?" Cora's voice interrupts the internal admonishments that Robert badgers himself with. He turns quickly and sits by her and though her face still looks anything but enthusiastic, he feels a little optimistic by her question.

"Well, I thought perhaps a visit to the Newport house might be nice. I know it's out of season but it's been ages since we've been and…I've taken the liberty to arrange for travel tomorrow." At Cora's shocked expression, Robert rushes on. "We can cancel of course if you really are not up for it. Actually, it was probably a horrid idea. The last thing you need right now is a place filled with memories..."

They sit, saying nothing for a few moments, until Cora breaks the silence. "You know, I cannot recall the last time we went anywhere, just you and I. It seems quite remiss of us to not travel more. I am a ridiculously wealthy heiress now, you know. We should take advantage of the house."

Cora's teasing tone bolsters Robert and he grabs her hands in his. "I know we cannot just run away from all that's happened, my dear, but truly, I just want to make you happy again. You've spoiled me all these years with that beautiful smile of yours and I miss it…"

Cora startles him by leaning in and placing a soft kiss on his lips. The contact immediately sends a jolt of excitement throughout Robert and it takes all of his willpower not to push her back on the bed.

"I think I'd like to go Robert." Cora whispers, breaking their contact slightly. Robert sees a little of the old sparkle in her eyes and it soothes some of the tremendous guilt that has weighed on him since his mother's words a few days before and his inability to refute them.

* * *

Cora sits on the small chair in their room, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and stares out the porthole. A full moon illuminates the foamy caps of the Atlantic as the ship pushes westward and she loses herself in the undulation of the waters beyond the glass. As they voyage ever closer to America, Cora wonders if she made a mistake. She thinks about the cold and empty house waiting for them, so different than the other times she's made this same trip. And then there is Robert. Her attention turns to him, snoring and sprawled on their bed. Without the distractions of Downton, he focuses all of his worry on her, scrutinizing her mood, if she is eating enough, if she's comfortable. The full force of his vigilance exhausts her as she attempts to reassure him that she is doing better, when she isn't quite sure of that herself.

A change in Robert's breathing brings Cora out of her own thoughts. She watches as his face screws itself into a grimace and he tosses about. She leaves the chair and sits on the bed, gently pushing at his shoulder to wake him. Robert sits up quickly at her touch, eyes wide and fearful until he takes in her face hovering over his. He closes his eyes and this close Cora now notices a tear stain streaking down his cheek.

"I woke you." Robert's voice is gruff with the remnants of sleep.

"No, darling," she reassures, "I was already awake."

Robert's brows furrow as he looks about the dark room. "But it's still late."

"I couldn't sleep." Cora replies quietly. "What were you dreaming just now?"

Robert studies her before shaking his head. "Nothing. I don't remember."

But the sadness she sees in his eyes tells her differently. She traces her finger down the path his tears made.

"You were crying." She states softly.

Robert shrugs and lays back down on his back, looking at the ceiling of their state room. Cora pushes some of the linens aside and curls up near him, resting her head in her palm and placing her other hand on his chest. She feels his breathing steady out under her touch.

"What's that you've been telling me all these weeks? If you talk about it you'll feel better." Cora admonishes gently.

Robert sighs heavily and wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her down and hugging her close. They lay there in silence for a few moments, swaying with the motion of the ship. Robert traces faint circles on Cora's bare shoulder. She feels her eyes getting heavy when he clears his throat.

"You don't come home." His words brush away the fingers of sleep that grip her and she looks up at him. Robert blinks a few times, still staring above them.

"Murray tells us about the accident and I wait and wait for you but you never come back. I'm at the train station and I search each train that pulls in but you aren't there. And I think, the next one will bring her back to me, but it doesn't." Robert closes his mouth tightly, trying to contain his emotions.

"Oh Robert…" Cora's eyes well and the tears spill over as she leans down and kisses his cheek and then his lips. He holds her tightly in response. "I can't imagine what it must have been like, to not know. I would have gone mad."

"I don't want to burden you Cora. I imagine it was much easier than what you endured." Robert looks at her finally, wiping the tears away.

Cora leans down and kisses Robert, gently at first until his lips part under hers and then an aching need to feel him more fully envelops her. She shifts on top of him, running her hands into his hair, searching for his tongue with her own. In response, he grips her hips pushing them closer and she feels his own need for her responding to the press of her body. The fleeting realization that they haven't been together since before the accident makes her even more desperate for the feel of Robert's skin and she claws at his night shirt, quickly pushing the buttons through their loops. Robert grips her hands gently and pulls away slightly and she moans at the lost contact of his mouth.

"Are you sure?" His voice is already hoarse with desire but his eyes are shadowed with concern.

Cora nods frantically. "Yes, oh God. Please, this is as good as I've felt in forever, Robert. We both need this. Please!" Cora punctuates her words by diving into his neck and flowering it with hungry kisses.

"Your wish is my command, your ladyship." Robert whispers and Cora laughs. Robert expertly flips them over, and feels the tension in his shoulders relax just as his heart rate speeds up when Cora closes her eyes, her lips spreading into a wide and content smile as enters her. She lets herself get lost in the feeling of their long overdue reunion and for the first time in a long time she almost feels like herself again.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thank you all who have been following and reviewing. Your comments have been wonderful! This fic is almost at its conclusion. I think probably an epilogue after this chapter.**

* * *

Newport is mostly a deserted town when they arrive, most of the grand families that neighbor the house having left for New York. It is Robert's first time in New England so late in the year and he is in awe of the contrasting colors around them as the reds and golds of the treelined streets splash against the blues of the sky and surrounding ocean. They get into the habit of sleeping in late and breakfasting in bed, then strolling Bellevue Avenue in the crisp fall sun. Luncheon is served al fresco on the veranda, the sound of the ocean at the edge of the property providing them with background music. Dinner is either had in the expansive dining room or in one of the restaurants in town still open to the locals. Nights are spent making love and talking through the events that have plagued them the last month.

Despite Cora's fears that she no longer is tethered to the person she believed herself to be, Robert can see that being in her family's home agrees with her in a way that Downton never can. Here they are just 'Sir' and 'Ma'am' to the servants who cannot be bothered to educate themselves about the intricacies of foreign titles. While she is ever the picture of elegance and grace at Downton, Robert knows that Cora's more natural inclination is to be more relaxed and less rule bound than their aristocratic lives dictate.

Robert sits across from Cora in the dimly lit dining room. The few other patrons of the restaurant scattered around them in far off tables give the illusion that they have the establishment to themselves. He watches, mesmerized, as Cora delicately cuts into her lobster, brings the fork up to her mouth and then closes her eyes, a small sound of appreciation escaping her throat. Robert smiles and shakes his head in response and when she looks at him, it is with a guilty grin of her own.

"How I've missed New England seafood." Cora states.

"Apparently." Robert replies. "I'd have it sent in by the boxful just to see that kind of reaction across the table every night."

Cora continues to enjoy the contents of her dish and Robert forgets his own steak, taking too much pleasure in watching her. They have only been in America for a handful of days but already he feels the weights of grief and worry lifting off of his shoulders. Assessing his wife, he has seen the transformation in her as well. Some of the color is returned to her face and the shadows are dulled under her eyes, which look at him with a little more of her old mirth. She's quicker to throw her head back in laughter or break into a smile. Robert feels his own moods so closely entwined to hers that he cannot help but feel a silly happiness at her continued improvement.

Robert's thoughts are interrupted when Cora dabs at her mouth with her napkin and sighs contentedly. "It's criminal to leave any of this behind but I couldn't eat another bite."

Leaning over with his own linen, Robert presses it to the corner where her lips meet. "You missed a spot." He indicates. His hand lingers a beat longer than needed and Cora lowers her eyes, coyly. Robert rests his napkin on the table and covers her hand with his.

"I think we should ask for the check and save coffee and dessert for when we arrive back at the house." Cora states, her voice low.

I think that's a marvelous idea." Robert affirms, his mind already imagining what he wants to do to her.

* * *

Cora grabs a fur blanket off of the library sofa and motions for him to take the tray of coffee and small cakes. Walking quietly to the back of the house, he follows her out into the yard. The moon is almost full, illuminating a path across the lawn and splashing the ocean crests with sparkles of light. Cora spreads the blanket on the floor of the gazebo at the edge of the property and sits, looking up at him expectantly. The night is unseasonably warm but still, the ocean kicks up a breeze and Robert fusses, taking off his jacket and draping it over her bare shoulders. Cora cocks her head to the side, her lips turning up into an indulgent smirk.

Picking up a confection, Cora surprises him by bringing it to his lips rather than her own. He takes her offered treat, purposely letting his upper lip graze her fingertip before pulling back and chewing. Robert feels his pulse quicken as she licks her fingers, removing frosting that has clung to them. Picking up her cup, Cora takes a slow sip, holding his eyes with her own over the rim.

"I went snooping in my mother's room this afternoon while you napped." Cora says quietly before daintily biting into a chocolate covered strawberry. Robert can barely process her words as he stares at her mouth and the berry stains left there.

"Oh?" He questions, embarrassed that his voice breaks on the word as his pants become more uncomfortable.

Cora snorts gently, knowing exactly what his tone indicates but she continues. "I found some interesting things in a box tucked away in her closet." Her eyes grow serious and Robert sits straighter, willing himself to focus on what she is saying.

"Among other things, there was my aunt Lily's and Martha's diaries." Cora's expression is unreadable as she speaks.

"And did you read them?" Robert asks, concern wiping away the last smudges of desire.

"I did." Cora takes his hand and plays with his wedding ring, focusing her gaze on their joint fingers. "Lily apparently wanted to go to college so Isadore sent her to Vassar, in New York. Their parents were dead so he had taken responsibility for her. She fell madly in love with a professor who was kind and handsome. One night they let things progress out of hand and she was in trouble."

Robert strokes her cheek and she looks up at him. He is relieved that she looks so calm as she continues. "She never told him her predicament. She didn't want to jeopardize his career. She withdrew from college and went back to Cincinnati, told Martha and Isadore. They were newly married and offered to take...me. Isadore bought her a house on the outskirts of the city and nine months later he and Martha took me home."

"Did you ever meet her?" Roberts asks quietly.

Cora looks off in the distance as though looking at a memory. "Yes, we used to take trips to see her and she would come to the house for holidays. I always felt sorry for her. My maiden aunt, all alone in the country. She had this shroud of sadness around her. She wrote poetry and kept to herself mostly. Some of it was actually quite good, but very morose."

Cora shrugs and takes another strawberry, and again offers it to Robert. He accepts the sweet and then takes her hand in his, holding onto it.

"It sounds as if she passed down some of her gifts to our daughters. Sybil's need to make something of herself. And Edith's passion for writing."

Cora smiles at his words, her eyes watering slightly. "Of course, those pale in comparison to what she passed onto her own daughter."

"And what might that be?" Cora's voice wavers.

"Immeasurable courage." Robert whispers, leaning in and pressing his forehead to hers. She closes her eyes and sighs.

After a few moments of remaining that way, in silence, Robert asks. "Are you alright?"

Cora sits back, a tentative smile on her lips. "Yes, I think. Thirty years ago you became my family and then you gave me all I could ever want out of this life. What came before is merely prologue."

Robert pulls Cora into his arms and kisses her gently at first until they both become demanding in their need to feel united. He is continually amazed by the woman in his arms, and once again he thanks God that she's his.


	11. Epilogue

Cora walks into the great hall, Mary's arm hooked through hers, apprising her of all the things they've missed since being gone. Mrs Hughes greets her kindly as she gives over her hat. Robert speaks to Tom, trailing behind her. For the first time in many weeks, Downton finally feels as it always has. Edith comes down the stairs, her expression serious, a strained smile on her face and the peace Cora feels at being at home again wavers slightly.

"Mama, welcome home." Edith approaches and gives her a stiff hug which she attempts to return but her daughter is already pushing away.

"I know you've just gotten back and must be tired, but I wonder….I wonder if I might speak with you a moment. Alone." Edith's stammering and refusal to meet her eye concerns Cora and she immediately forgets any fatigue that the long journey to England may have caused.

Mary steps forward, trying to put herself in between Edith and her mother. "Must you do this now?" Mary hisses to her sister. She knows Edith has been hiding something for a while now, something big and while part of her wishes she would get on with it and come clean so she could stop moping about the house, now is not the time. Mary had been relieved to see Cora looking so well when she exited the car moments ago. She is loathe to let Edith's drama bring their mother down yet again.

Edith, having finally gathered her courage, will not be deterred. "Please Mama." She pleads.

"Of course, darling, of course. Mary…" Cora kisses her oldest daughter on the cheek taking Edith's hand and pulling her up the stairs. Once in the privacy of her room, she leads Edith to the bed and they both sit in silence as Cora waits for her to speak.

"What's happened darling?" Cora asks quietly when it looks as though Edith has lost her nerve. She turns toward her and runs a hand down her back as her daughter stares down at her lap, breathing deeply.

"Does this have something to do with Switzerland?" Cora asks. Edith startles, looking at her mother with surprise.

"How…" Edith says in wonder.

Cora raises her eyebrow. "Darling, I've known your aunt Rosamund for over thirty years. The woman has about as much desire to learn French as I have to swim the English channel in winter. And after being gone for so long she has yet to dazzle us with her new found skills."

"So why didn't you call us out? As Granny did?" Edith inquires.

Cora shrugs her shoulders. "You're an adult woman, Edith. The time for me to meddle in your life has passed. I assumed that if I pressed you, it would just push you further away. I hoped you would come to me on your own, when you felt ready."

Edith begins to cry and puts her face in her hands the fear of finally telling her secret overwhelming her. "You'll be so ashamed of me. I've made such a mess of everything."

Cora puts her arms around the shaking shoulders of her daughter and rocks her, kissing the top of her head. "Darling, I've dragged a dead man across this house for Mary and rallied against your father so that Sybil could marry the chauffeur. Whatever it is that's happened, I'll be in your corner."

"I had a baby, Mama." Edith whispers in a rush, her heart beating loudly in her ears as the words leave her. She feels her mother's embrace tighten.

"It's what I expected." Cora replies quietly. "And where is the baby now?"

Edith pulls away slightly, finally meeting Cora's eyes. They are turned down they way they always do when her mother is deeply concerned for someone and as Cora wipes at her tears fresh ones spring up at her mother's tender touch.

"At first I left her in Switzerland but I couldn't…." Edith trails off. "I wanted her close. I convinced Mr Drewe to take her in."

Cora's eyebrows knit together. "The pig farmer?!" Edith nods in response. Cora sighs.

"Well, I'm sure the Drewes are lovely people, but she belongs with us." Cora states firmly.

"But Papa…." Edith laments, already dreading the reaction of her father.

Cora pats Edith's hand gently. "Your father is mellowing in his old age. Leave him to me."

Edith throws her arms around her mother, hugging her fiercely. Cora holds her daughter tightly. "It's all going to be alright, darling. Truly. Everything will work out in the end."

**A/N: Thanks everyone for following this and for all of your kind reviews! Hope you enjoyed it. **


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