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“What time is it?”
Cora’s hand reached for the brush that would assist in detangling her hair as she removed each carefully-placed pin from her dense locks. Her tiara had been long forgotten on the chair adjacent to the vanity, it’s diamonds still twinkling in the light of the fire. As if the accessory knew it had a job to do; shinning for its worthy mistress. The moment she stepped into her bedroom half an hour before she’d immediately moved to flop onto the plush fabric of the chair, pushing off her shoes with her feet and tugging the crown from its grip. Funny enough, Cora remembered scolding her girls for performing this exact unladylike gesture when they were small. But, a headache had sprouted it’s roots where the tiara had clutched her scalp underneath layers of curls and she had no regard for propriety. Especially not when it was nearly past 4:00 AM. A sudden regret at dismissing the maids and valets for the evening cropped into her thoughts as she reclined, for she favored the way Baxter would massage her head as she uncoiled Cora’s tidy hairstyle. She had always fancied the tiaras, of course, as they were an emblem not only of her position as wife and mother, but of a proud aunt who had thrown a lavish party honoring her niece. A niece, though actually a cousin, that had become so dear she was practically a daughter.
The London season always made Cora a bit giddier than normal. She had grown to adore the balls, the concerts, and the dinners that accompanied those few months in the city. Perhaps it was the fact that she was never formally presented, what with her American heritage, and the memories of the evenings that promised masquerade and fanfare, ultimately leading her to Robert. The current season affected him, as well, which pleased her to no end. After Sybil’s success years earlier, Cora had come to terms with the fact that the days of teaching her girls how to curtsy for the King and the proper way to waltz were over. Sybil, Edith, and Mary had mild subsequent seasons where the family would throw a dinner here or there for a potential suitor, but the rush of planning for who knows how many party goers had passed as quickly as it had began.
Thank God for Rose. Cora found this exclamation frequently crossing her mind over the past year. Not only had the young lady’s lighthearted spirit and compassionate demeanor flooded the house with joy when she first arrived, Rose had given Cora back her lust for life. Little by little she understood that Sybil would never have wanted her parents to live in misery after her death. Rose was a constant reminder that happiness is abundant, and often within your grasp, if you only look for it. Robert had also softened and Cora had watched as he beamed at the knowledge that they would present Rose in her first season.
And judging by the bits of laughter and smiles, the dancing, which she knew would last until dawn, and a visit from the Prince of Wales, himself, Cora deemed the entire affair a triumph. Now, she sat in front of her mirror, soaking up her final season as the Great and Illustrious Lady Grantham, Hostess of the Century with Robert settled in bed behind her.
Her earlier question regarding the time recieved a chuckle from the figure that lay in the shadows of the four poster bed.
“You don’t want to know.” He offered and listened to her sigh, a mixture of tiredness and content coloring the exhale.
“It really was a splendid success.” Robert let the spine of his book lie in his lap, all focus turned to Cora.
Grinning at her reflection and removing her earrings, Cora spoke, “As long as Rose is happy.”
“I dare say she won’t come down from the clouds for quite some time,” His comment garnering a scoff from Cora’s perch. Her diamond earrings clinked upon their contact with the wood and the necklace followed.
The brush found its way through her inky tresses, catching only a couple of times when it met a knot. Satisfied with her efforts to tame the waves, Cora swept it back and began tying a loose braid.
“Leave it.”
Robert, who had been watching her prepare herself for bed, thinking of all the times they sat in the same positions following a night of fervent merriment, met her gaze in the mirror.
“Why?” She countered, pausing her action.
“I want to run my fingers through it.” A smirk had glossed over his tired face. Though Cora couldn’t quite see it in the dim lamplight, she sensed the friendly rumble of desire that inched its way from her stomach to her heart, spreading from there.
“It’ll be ghastly in the morning. Baxter will scold me.” But she had ceased the act of restraining her hair and shifted her entire body to face him.
“Come to bed, my darling. It’s so very late.”
Indeed it was. Any other urge that did not include climbing into bed and letting Robert stroke away the lingering frenzy of the past month evaporated. Mindful to play the game before she melted entirely, she spoke a condition.
“Only if you promise to sleep in with me.” She fought her erupting smile, letting her eyes speak volumes.
Robert would have agreed to fight a roomful of wolves with a toothbrush if it meant feeling the weight of Cora’s body beside him.
“I would love nothing more.”
At his response, Cora hoisted herself up and padded her bare feet to the edge of the bed. She hadn’t concerned herself with a dressing gown, so she pulled back the comforter and felt the give in the mattress. Without care, she eased onto her back, tucked between Robert’s hip and his arm. This gave him easy access to weave his hand into her velvety strands. She instantly relaxed at the contact and her eyes slip closed as the goosebumps took over her body.
Robert reached to turn off the lamp without jostling her serene state. All that was left was the fireplace that sizzled and cracked with the flames. He observed her appearance. Prominent cheekbones that had once been full and rosy, lips that had thinned with age, and eyelids that were paler than they use to be. But Robert couldn’t bring himself to miss the skin she had long since shed to endure bringing children into the world, grieving as one was taken away, worrying for safety during two wars, and shouldering the burden of becoming a countess. For this Cora was the one he had grown with, the one that never ceased to enchant him. The woman who, though he would never admit it outside their bedroom walls or to anyone else but her, that he couldn’t live without.
“It’s been ages since you’ve done this.” She broke the spell with a groggy voice and circled him back to reality.
“My fault entirely,” he spoke almost in a whisper, never halting his caress, “You’d almost immediately be asleep before I’d even started.”
“You used...” she sighed, peacefully at the memory that revealed itself, “You used to do this nearly every night when I was pregnant with Sybil. When she wouldn’t stop kicking.”
The recollection was swarming Robert, as well. Her hair was shorter, then, and curlier. The tendrils had mellowed through the years.
“I can’t believe it’s all over.” Cora hadn’t exactly changed the subject from Sybil, but was passively thinking of both her daughter and the portion of their lives that had been filled with season after season.
Robert considered this, not necessarily minding that the era of staying up until sunrise had come and gone.
“Now all we can do is wait for Sybbie’s season.” He spoke, offering solace.
Cora hummed, the loudest response she could muster.
“And she will be something, won’t she.” He was speaking more to the future, a warning to watch out for his headstrong granddaughter. She would have London in the palm of her hand.
Cora’s eyes opened briefly and found Robert’s, nodding slowly. He brushed his palm over her forehead and beamed as he watched his wife drift into her dreams, knowing neither of them would wake until luncheon.