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corasorangejuice · 5 months

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My entry to the Cobert Winter Fanfic Exchange has just been posted to Ao3 and ff.net as well as on here for anyone who might want to read. Thank you @bella-caecilia for organising this event, this was great fun and I’m so looking forward to reading what everyone wrote!

I chose the Hurt/Comfort category and my prompts were “You don’t have to be so brave with me” / laceration

Without further ado, this is set after S6E5 (the bloody dinner episode)

Robert was coming home. It had been two weeks since that fateful dinner party, a night she would never be able to forget, and now he was finally returning from the village hospital.

Cora was standing by the window in the small library of Downton, anxiously peeking out and letting her eyes wander over the grass and gravel leading all the way down to the gates of their estate.

He was supposed to arrive at the abbey at half past two. A quick look at the clock to her right told her that they were running late, almost half an hour already.

What if something had happened, what if he was not coming home after all?

Then, as her mind began to spin with all the what-ifs she could possibly come up with, each one worse than the one before, she saw a big motor coming up the gravel driveway. It was driving slowly, much too slowly for her liking, but after a while, she saw that this was the ambulance bringing him home. For the past two weeks, there was nothing she had wanted more than to simply hold him in her arms, to feel his presence with her while it was so sorely missed. She had found it hard to fall asleep without him next to her in bed every night, not that she would admit to that.

Quickly, Cora turned on her heel and left the room. With long strides, she crossed the entrance hall and walked out the front door to welcome him, just like they always did with their guests. Right when she came to a halt outside the grand wooden doors of their family home, the back doors of the ambulance opened and she got to look directly into his face, a sight she had been looking forward to for days now.

She had been so incredibly scared when they took him and rushed him to emergency surgery at the village hospital. She had been afraid that she would never get to see him again, that she would never get to see his gentle smile and feel his loving gaze on her, ever again.

The image of him lying in a pool of his own blood on the dining room floor, trying to tell her he loved her — it haunted her. She might have appeared put together as she tried to calm him down, but that was really just a façade. Deep down, she had been scared out of her mind, had been afraid of losing him forever. However much she had wanted to, she simply could not allow herself to fall to pieces in front of everyone — least of all their daughters, who had to watch their father be rushed away, covered in blood.

When Robert saw her, his face lit up into such a bright smile. But even the brightest and most sincere of smiles couldn't get rid of the dark circles under his eyes. His unusually sallow complexion worried her, as did his sunken cheeks. She had to remind herself that he had just undergone a major emergency surgery — of course, he was not going to come back home the picture of health. A gastrectomy was not to be underestimated, that's what Doctor Clarkson had told her when she visited Robert the morning after the incident.

She had expected him not to look his usual self, but not quite as bad as this. It would take a while and exceptionally good nursing to get him back on his feet. Cora was determined to help him as best she could.

The people who had driven him there set about getting his stretcher out of the ambulance to take him inside and up to the bedroom like they had been instructed to. Robert winced noticeably when they hoisted him out of the car, the sudden movement causing his fresh wound to hurt again despite the strong painkillers he had been given ahead of his departure from the village hospital.

"Cora!" he exclaimed weakly as they started to carry him inside past her. Upon this, though, the men stopped and waited until the Countess had had a chance to greet him.

„Welcome home, my dear. They will take you up to our room and I will join you as soon as I have talked to Doctor Clarkson," his wife replied reassuringly, letting her hand graze over his arm as he was carried inside once more.

Robert only managed a small nod in return, wincing and inhaling sharply at the swaying motions shaking him through.

He could hear her voice through the closed door, along with Doctor Clarkson's. However much he tried to concentrate to understand what they were saying, he could not hear a word of what was spoken. Their voices were simply too muffled by the wooden doors separating them from him lying in their bed, and his mind was still hazy from all the painkillers he had been given in the hospital.

Robert was already starting to drift back off to sleep, his eyelids getting increasingly heavy, when the door finally opened and Cora walked in.

She closed the door carefully behind her and took a seat in the chair that was put close to his bedside. When she reached out her hand to take his hand in hers, his eyes immediately flew open again. His gaze met his wife's, and he recognised the concerned look she tried to veil behind an encouraging and welcoming smile — he had seen this before.

"Oh my dear, I am so pleased to have you back home. You have no idea how worried the girls and I have been and how anxious we were to finally have you here with us again. Even your mother decided to let her grudge rest for now, though I suppose your return will lead her back on her warpath with me." She saw his blinking slow down — a clear sign he was tired — and so, after a short pause, Cora added: "I'll let you rest for now. I will redo the dressing on your wound after dinner, as Doctor Clarkson instructed."

Robert still had trouble speaking with his throat feeling sore, but he managed to croak out: "I am so- I'm so sorry you all had to witness this. But what about the nurse Doctor Clarkson wanted to send up to the house along with me?"

Cora handed him a cup of water already standing on his nightstand when he started to cough, wincing and pressing his hand to his side all the while.

"I sent her back to the hospital, she's more needed there to help with all the hurt and sick in the village. I can care for you, and Doctor Clarkson explained it all quite well. I know that I am capable of doing it," Cora said confidently when she set the glass back down.

"You really shouldn't, these are trained people for a reason and I wouldn't want you to have to see this," he whispered in reply.

"But I want to, Robert. Please."

Robert knew that this was an argument he was not going to win, his wife was quite headstrong when she wanted to be and clearly, she wanted in this case. So instead of arguing some more, he simply nodded slowly before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep again.

Later that night, Cora excused herself directly after dinner ended, not joining her family in the drawing room as usual. Instead, she climbed the flights of stairs to go to her bedroom and care for Robert. Mary and Edith had offered to help with the wound dressing, but Robert had refused them much more profusely than he had Cora when they had gone up to welcome him home after tea.

She felt nervous, even though there was no particular reason for her to be. Her husband was home and he was safe. He had had an emergency surgery a fortnight ago and there were hours when she didn't know if she'd ever see him again, but she did. The doctors managed to save him, to keep him there with her, and now it was on her to help him get better.

Doctor Clarkson had shown her how to dress the wound in fresh bandages and how to apply the creams and tinctures to help the wound heal quicker and better, and hopefully also scar less. He had also told her when to give him what kind of medicine to help manage his pain and minimise his discomfort. She was prepared as best as anyone probably could be and still, she was nervous.

What would it look like, how bad would it be?

Taking a deep breath to calm her down, she opened the door and entered their shared bedroom to find him asleep on the bed. However, he wasn't sleeping as peacefully as she had hoped — his face was pulled into some sort of grimace of constant pain.

Quietly, she gathered the supplies she would need to care for his wound and neatly assembled them all on his nightstand. Then, she took a seat in the chair that was still pulled to his bedside and tried to gently wake him from his uneasy slumber.

Robert heard a familiar, gentle and soft voice ring out to him and slowly, it took him out of his uneasy dream. Almost hesitantly, he came to and found himself face to face with his smiling wife.

"What a sight for sore eyes," he whispered softly, his voice heavy with sleep.

A wide smile graced Cora's features when he slowly reached out his arm for her to take. Gingerly, she put her hand in his offered one. When his fingers closed around her delicate hand, she was surprised by the strength of his hold. He had barely managed to reach out his arm, but his hold was fast and steady. That fact encouraged her, it gave her hope.

"Can you sit up in bed? I am afraid it is time to change your bandages and apply the creams Doctor Clarkson prescribed," Cora said after a while of simply sitting there and holding hands.

Robert nodded and further strengthened his grip on her to hoist himself up.

However, before he could even try to sit up on his own, Cora asked: "Do you want some more medicine to manage the pain? You did not take any this afternoon and you seemed to be in quite some pain when you were asleep just now."

Shaking his head no, he replied: "No, I can manage without." After a few short seconds and seeing her doubting look, he tried to distract her and added: "Are you sure you want to do this? Maybe Cousin Isobel coul-"

"No, Robert. I won't trouble her with this," she retorted sternly. Then, Cora stood up from her seated position to help him sit up in bed as well. "And now, let me help you."

He tried. He truly thought he would be able to do it. After only a second of trying, though, the pain in his abdomen became too much to bear and he wincingly fell back into the pillows. He didn't move, inhaling and exhaling quite sharply as he pressed a hand to his upper belly.

Cora let him catch his breath and then handed him a tiny glass filled with a clear liquid she took from the nightstand. Silently, she urged him to drink it, promising him a sip of water afterwards.

"You don't have to be so brave with me, dear. Take the medicine and it will all be a bit easier, for both of us. I can't bear to see you in such pain, not when there is something I can do to help," she said when he only eyed the small glass, clearly hesitant to sip it.

Begrudgingly, Robert drank the medicine, pulling a funny face at the lingering bitter and unpleasant taste.

They sat in silence for a little while, waiting for the medication to start working its magic. Slowly, Robert's tensely clenched jaw began to relax and his steely grip on the bed frame loosened.

"Let us try again, Cora," Robert said with a determined expression.

It cost him great strength and it hurt immensely, but he did it. They did. Somehow, he got into a seated position and managed to stay there while she unwrapped the white cloth bandages that were tightly wound around his torso.

The less his chest and belly were covered, the more her hands started to quiver. She kept her eyes fixed on the slowly disappearing bandages, until finally, the last of them fell away and she saw the wound.

Her breath got caught in her throat. She had imagined a lot, but nothing seemed to have come close to the reality. The wound was long and crooked, the edges jagged. It was painfully obvious that this had not been a planned operation. The flesh held together by the many stitches was coloured a sort of angry red, and it looked incredibly painful.

"That's why I wanted the nurse here to take care of this, at least in the beginning. I did not want you to have to see this, not when it still looks as bad as this," Robert whispered. He had noticed her hesitation and had seen and felt her movements cease when the bandages were gone.

Cora shook her head slightly at that.

"Why? You are my husband and I vowed to take care of you. I am not a young girl you could scare to death with this. You have been injured and I want to take care of you, that's all there is to it," she said, motioning towards his wound and the medical supplies on his nightstand.

With determination in her eyes, she set about caring for the scarring wound the way the doctor had instructed her to and before long, Robert got to lie back down with a fresh bandage wrapped around his torso underneath his nightshirt. This was exhausting, he had to admit, and he almost immediately dozed off into a light slumber.

Not much later, Cora got into bed next to him after her lady's maid had left the room. Baxter had worked silently and very efficiently so that she would not wake him when she helped Cora get ready for the night.

The mattress shifted when she got into bed, the motion woke him up and he watched as she tried to come closer while still trying to keep some distance between them so that she would not unintentionally hurt him.

"Thank you for doing this," Robert said, his voice heavy with sleep.

"We will manage this, you'll see. Just don't hesitate to take the pain medication from Doctor Clarkson, it is there to help you. You don't have to prove anything to me. It is not admitting a weakness or even defeat. You never have to be brave with me, dear."

Cora sat up in bed and placed an innocent kiss on his lips when he hesitantly nodded in agreement, followed by another one she placed on his jaw. Then, she settled back into bed and pulled the covers up over the two of them.

"Cora?" he asked again shortly thereafter.

She had already begun falling asleep, feeling exhausted after this day, and only managed a small: "Mmh?" in reply.

"I know this is hard for you, all of it. Just know one thing: you don't have to be so brave with me, either," he said firmly in the silence that had fallen over their room. His hand left the space on his belly where it had been resting until then and softly fell into the space between them.

Cora turned off the lights and settled into bed next to him. She couldn't cuddle up to him or even lie too close without possibly hurting him. But she could hold his hand, and so she did.

That night, for the first time in two weeks, she fell into an easy sleep, not haunted by a gruesome nightmare that took her back to the dinner party. She fell asleep with a smile on her face, thinking that finally, things were looking up again. She had her husband back home with her. Robert was lying next to her, he would eventually recover and she would help him as best she could. That was a promise she gave him and herself.

Things would turn out alright for them in the end, she was sure of it.

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corasorangejuice · 6 months

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NaNoWriMo Entry #3

Future

February, 1890

Despite the cold chill of a winter’s night, and the way it seeped into the cracks of stone and the gaps in windows, the roaring fire and his mother’s words had him sweating. Robert licked his lips, a dry mouth unable to soothe the chapped flesh. He stood and went to the table behind him, a small bottle of brandy and an empty glass waiting to help him. Or distract him. His mother seemed to read his thoughts.

“That won’t solve your problem.”

Robert closed his eyes briefly, her words continuing the argument they’d had all day. Pitiful, he thought, watching his hand shake lifting up the crystal bottle. It had been days since he’d had a good night’s sleep, the upcoming wedding only half of his worry. He rubbed at the twitching muscle above his eye before bringing the cup of amber liquid up and taking a sip. The burn filled his nostrils and his throat, and the liquor momentarily did what he hoped it would do, take his mind off of his parents, the barrister that had just left Downton, and his fiancee.

“You’re going to have to answer your mother eventually, son. The wedding is in two days.”

Robert kept his back to his parents, one of the only times he could remember not pivoting and looking them in the eye during a conversation. But it had all been too much already, the push and pull between his past and his future. It had started the moment she’d stepped off of the ship, back in England and ready to prepare for their marriage day and it grew more keen and achy, like a sore tooth, each day after.

“Will she be well enough by Friday?”

Violet asked the question again, as if it hadn’t been asked in several different ways already. Robert placed his cup down and braced the sides of the table, the Cora of a few hours ago in his mind. She had taken to her bed in Crawley House six days prior, a footman sending a note in her place, excusing her from their scheduled ride to the northern gardens. He’d been mildly annoyed, but then one absence turned to two, turned to a week’s worth and his irritation had been replaced by a confounding mix of emotions he couldn’t quite remember feeling before. He’d grown so used to her presence in the two months she’d been back, her curious questions, her unique voice.

Fueled by his parents feelings of frustration and urgency, and the growing desire to see her, he’d finally found the courage that morning to push into Crawley House unannounced. He’d been prepared for her mother to order him away, but she’d allowed him in, despite the frown lining her face. She’d watched him with a cold look, a scrutinizing glare, that made him feel as though he’d failed some test.

“I don’t know.”

In reality, he’d found her pale as paper, coughing and glassy eyed. Though her maid had dressed her and placed her on the chaise in her bedroom in an attempt to make her look fresh and ready for company, Cora had barely been able to keep her head up, sinking further into the lounge the longer he stayed. It seemed only a miracle could make her turn a corner quick enough to be ready for their wedding day. The hours and hours of ceremony and tradition to fulfill was daunting enough to him, he couldn’t imagine her, still sick with influenza, lasting more than a half hour.

“Great. Typical.” His mother’s words came out hard and pointed, as though they should hurt being spoken. Robert dug his nails into the table.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” her voice rose and the quiver in it made him finally turn. Her nostrils flared. “That I wouldn’t expect anything less dramatic from an American.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Robert’s own voice rose to fill the room. “She’s ill, Mama! Or is that not allowed?”

Violet rolled her eyes. “She was ill coming off the ship. She’s ill now. What kind of delicate creature are we marrying you to?”

Robert sighed. “Everyone’s ill after a week at sea.”

“Not I.”

“Well, we aren’t all made of iron.” Robert pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s not do this.” His father, the smooth baritone of his words muffling the harshness of his wife’s, held his hands out as he spoke.

“Can she even bare children?! I’m not convinced she’ll survive-”

“Please stop!” The twitch above his eye returned.

“Violet!” His father’s eyes were wide and on his mother, and she quieted finally and faced the fire.

“Robert, there were so many things we needed to do this week. The papers. Can she sign them?”

The inhale Robert took stuttered in his chest and he turned slowly to his father and squinted. The man looked at him blankly, calmly, and Robert felt the brandy in his belly swirl, burning a path up his throat again.

“Are you serious?” Robert took a step back, away from his father. “I’m to bring these to her and have her sign them? Papers signing away her right as a mother. To determine her children's religion. And her fortune. Two nights before our wedding.”

“It isn’t ideal-”.

“No.”

The room went quiet, the air stifled in each of their breasts. Robert was aware of the fan of his mother’s skirts as she turned quickly around to face them. He kept his eyes on his father but the older man’s face was unreadable.

“No?”

Robert shook his head. “You’ll have to trust that she’ll do it after we are married. When I’ve had a chance to speak with her. Properly. She’s in no condition.”

Clenching his fists together by his side, Robert waited, his breath feeling shaky and short. He’d never gone against his father’s wishes, the act feeling foreign and uncomfortable, but also freeing, like a weight was was dropping off.

“Think of your future.”

“I am, Papa,” Robert said quietly. “I am.”

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corasorangejuice · 7 months

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October Prompts

8: Honor

This is inspired by @ladyrosse ‘s cardgame request. Honor - (in whist) an ace, king, queen, or jack of trumps

Robert sighed as he flipped over another card. Three of spades. He surveyed the short lines of cards he’d laid on his bed tray and found he had nowhere to place it—no lonely four of hearts or four of diamonds, no orderly stack of spades resting at the top. He sighed, again, and drew a new card from the deck.

King of hearts. He frowned. Well, he had needed this card but he had no free space to lay it.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered irritably, and Robert drew another card.

He peered up from the new card as the door pushed open, and then he smiled as her face peered around the door.

“Hello, darling,” Cora smiled, and Robert felt all-at-once relieved and envious. She had on her thin summer coat, her gloves, her hat; she moved to him and kissed the top of his head, and she smelled of fresh air and sunshine. He pouted.

“How are you feeling?” She asked with a second kiss, this time to his temple, and he shook his head.

“As if I’ve entered some ring of hell Dante neglected to mention.”

“Oh,” a third kiss—to his cheek—elicited a tiny spark of warmth, “it can’t be so bad.”

“It is.”

Cora’s lace glove pointed at the cards arranged before him. “Your seven of clubs can go here.” And she walked, then, to her dressing table. Robert dropped the cards he held and watched her.

“How is everyone?” he asked as she pulled her gloves from her hands. She glanced at him in the mirror. He continued. “Frederick and Beatrice? I suppose they’re well.”

“They are,” she answered, and he watched, still, as she took the pin from her hat and removed it from her head.

“I suppose Fred’s off somewhere, enjoying the glorious days of summer.”

He heard her grunt of a laugh and a small part of him delighted in the way she rolled her eyes. “The grass is always greener, you know.”

His eyes followed her as she stood to take off her coat and came to sit beside him, near his feet.

“I’m not sure Fred would like to trade places with me. He rather enjoys food.” He paused as she took up the cards from the tray. “And wine,” he added in a soft groan, at which his wife shook her head.

“Well, I like you well.” She was looking at the cards, squaring the corners of the deck. “And not in a hospital bed.”

He hummed, conceding the argument with some reluctance, but with love for the way he’d heard the sincerity in her voice.

“Now,” she was shuffling the cards, “what shall we play?”

“Hand of poker?” he smirked up at her. Cora narrowed her eyes.

“I won’t have my bedroom smell of cigars, thank you.”

He laughed. “Very well. German Whist, then?”

“Alright,” and she began to deal. “Thirteen cards, isn’t it?”

He nodded and watched the way she quickly dealt them out. He watched, too, the way she stood and made herself more comfortable as she put the deck between them, tucking a knee upon the bed. A quick image of her from years and years ago flashed in his mind, and his chest tightened sweetly.

There she was, lovely as ever, and here was he, an old man with a new scar marching across his soft stomach.

“Hearts are trumps,” she said, and she looked up at him.

He laid down a card, she did too, and he took the trick.

They played a few more tricks in silence, Robert glancing up at his wife and finding her prettier and prettier, sweeter and sweeter, until at least he felt the words—I love you—gather on his tongue.

No. He swallowed them down. This too much resting, too little solid foods, it was making him irrationally emotional. And he knew his wife. She wouldn’t know what to do with any of that.

He cleared his throat. “Do you know, this version of the game, of whist, is also called Honeymoon Whist.”

“Oh?” She smiled at him, and she played a card. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. He took up the trick. “But considering the name, I thought you’d find it amusing.”

“Amusing?”

“Yes.” He chuckled a little. “Honeymoon whist.”

She was quieter than he thought she should be, and suddenly he realized she didn’t remember. “Cora. We played whist on our honeymoon.”

She blinked at him.

“On the train,” he rested his wrist in the tray, he was sure showing his hand. “You do remember, don’t you?”

She smiled, her brow furrowed, and then she shook her head. “Did we?”

“Yes!” He nearly shouted. He looked back at his cards and selected one to play. “Honestly, Cora, I wonder about your memory—“

“—in Italy?”

“Not in Italy, no!”

She put down a card and took the trick. “I don’t recall—“

“—in Scotland. Or rather on the train up to Scotland.” He put down a card. “Do you really not remember?”

But when he brought his eyes up to her again, he could see that she did.

Her crooked smile. Her bright eyes. Her tilted head. “Oh,” she said quietly. “Our wedding night.”

“Yes,” he arranged his cards. “Our wedding night.”

��I remember that you let me win.”

“Nonsense,” he laid down a card—king of hearts. “You didn’t have any help from me.”

“Yes I did.”

Robert looked up at her, at her even quieter voice, and found her smiling at him.

“I had plenty of help from you.”

The pink smile she wore felt contagious, and the corners of his mouth tickled upward as he thought of that night thirty-five years before. How young they were, embarrassed and fumbling about. How tender and rose-tinted it all seemed now, nights and nights and nights of marriage softening the sharp corners of that evening.

“We helped one another,” he grinned, his cheeks warming as he watched a small blush rise in his wife’s cheeks.

She nodded, and, reaching his free hand out to the tray, he chuckled softly when she took it in her own. “Yes. We did.”

“And, we will continue to help one another, won’t we?”

She extracted her hand from his, and she pushed the the trick he won towards him. “Yes.” He loved the way her eyes sparkled when she cocked a brow. “Though, you have at least two more weeks before any of that, thank you.”

He laughed at her, unguardedly and, for the first time all day, happily. “That isn’t what I meant,” he lied.

And Cora only glanced up from her hand at him, smirking behind her cards.

“No,” she lied, too. “Of course it isn’t.

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corasorangejuice · 7 months

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NaNoWriMo Entry #2

Pearl

July, 1891

“Robert, I don’t know what was so important-”.

His lips were upon hers and the rest of her words were swallowed into the depths of his soul as he covered her mouth so completely she gasped for air. Hands, greedy to feel every inch of her, pressed into the tender places that made her squirm with pleasure. Eyes closed, pops of light burst behind her lids as he pinched and caressed and pulled. Her mind spiraled into a dizzying freefall, all thoughts of seating charts and flower arrangements interrupted. There was no longer thinking, just a frenzy of feelings and impulses as her own hands instinctively responded, manipulating him in the ways he liked, making him groan and pant as he backed her into the wall.

She felt the absence of his hand and heard the small click of the lock, the knob secured against intrusion. It was like the release of a dam, both of them becoming more frantic in their movements, tearing at skirts and clasps and buttons. The loss of clothing made her hot skin prickle with gooseflesh and her shiver only fueled Robert’s need as he pushed her onto their bed and topped her. Finally finding the friction she craved as his body filled every blank space on hers, Cora rocked against him, taking him deep and holding him tightly. Their undulating rhythms quickened, and their release crested at the same time, both of them crashing against each other with each pleasurable and delicious wave.

When they’d both stilled, Robert collapsed beside her, his head resting on her sweaty shoulder, is finger tracing patterns above her breast. The tip touched the string of pearls still roped around her neck. She could feel one of the beads cradled in the hollow between her collar bones and that was the one he played with, pushing it back and forth lazily. The jewelry had been a gift from him after Mary’s birth and had quickly become one of her favorite pieces.

“I should have thought on this more, when I bought it.” Robert leaned upward on his elbow, his face hovering over hers and his eyes directed onto the pearls.

“Hmm?” Cora felt drowsy suddenly, the carnal exertion adding to the almost constant fatigue she felt as the mother of an infant.

“It covers my favorite spot!” Robert’s pout made her chuckle, and slowly his head dipped lower and he suckled the spot the pearl had occupied. The attention, the lingering kisses that grew more passionate, set her flesh tingling once again.

“The suprasternal notch.” Cora’s voice cracked as his hand slid up the length of her body, as it cradled the slope of her breast.

“Whatever it is, it’s glorious.It’s mine.” Robert’s mouth covered hers and her hips lifted in response, the pearls forgotten as they sailed towards release for a second time.

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corasorangejuice · 7 months

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NaNoWriMo Entry #1

Bewitch

October 31, 1890

Though the rooms and halls of Duneagle were as familiar to him as Downton, on this night the shadows unbalanced his senses, and he felt less certain of his footing. Lit only by the tumultuous fires in hearths and the candlesticks flickering in a hundred jack-o-lanterns scattered about in the rooms, the walls seemed to dance, alive with each turn of air. With a glass of punch cooling his hand, Robert entered the drawing room. He squinted into the hazy darkness, the guests near the fireplace illuminated and orange hued, while those in the farther corners were faceless silhouettes, only a glinting of jewels or the outline of satin truly visible. Sighing, he stepped further in, to where a group of bachelors were pairing apples, looking into mirrors to see the ghostly forms of their future wives appear. Robert shook his head, and passed through the press of people, costumed and draped in elaborate pantomime, living out their fantastical interpretations of Susan’s theme.

The ruffle of his own sleeve, authentic and smart looking hours before as it flounced from the edge of his cuff, was stained with punch and wilting at his wrist. The brocade jacket, with its golden embroidery and many buttons had grown heavy and wearisome as the night wore on. Robert had consumed enough punch to be tired, and his desire to find Cora compounded his growing irritation. He’d always disliked a masquerade, wondering why people couldn’t just be themselves. But Cora had been so excited at the invitation, looking forward to her first British Halloween.

He’d been unable to say no.

In the library, Shrimpie was holding the attention of a large group, telling some ghoulish story that seemed to rely heavily on Bronte’s penned musings. If the listeners suspected the hero bore an eerie resemblance to Rochester, they hadn’t let on. Robert inspected each person’s face, their form, their costume, but none were Cora. It unsettled him that it took him a moment to pass from one party goer to another. It seemed he should know instinctually whether he was looking at his wife or not, even through the veil of darkness blanketing the entire castle.

Robert passed from the library into the music room, a lone pianist playing a doleful tune on the instrument. There were several card tables set up, with a crowd of five or six at each. Instead of playing canasta or spades, however, each table held a woman in robes inspecting an elaborate deck of cards. It took only a moment of scrutiny for Robert to see it was a tarot deck and he frowned. Were people really so silly?

As soon as the thought entered his head, he saw her at the far table. If he had been able to think clearer, he would have been pleased with himself, noticing he had known her instinctually as soon as his eyes took her in their vision. He was too taken by her presence to think such thoughts. She looked as fresh as when he’d gone to her bedroom door hours ago, ready to accompany her downstairs for the festivities. Robert stood and stared at her for a few minutes, waiting, and then finally her gaze darted up and around the room, stopping when her eyes met his. Even far away he could see the crinkle of her skin around her mouth and the uplifting of her lips. She spoke lowly to the others at the table before standing.

The long blue cape that she wore swirled behind her, the fluidity of the velvet like a living thing. And the sight of her again in her dress, the way the white lace of her bodice quivered as she moved, the angles of her delicate curves, made him choke against the restraint of the jabot around his neck. Sometimes when he saw her, he was again taken aback by her beauty, as though seeing it for the first time.

Cora’s smile widened as she came closer to him, and she stopped only when their noses were close enough to touch. Robert was mesmerized by the glint in her blue eyes, the shine that rivaled the diamond stars on her tiara. Between them, her hand grazed his chest before it settled back against the bone of her corset, covering the shelter of their secret. When he found his voice, it was high and unnatural.

“What were you doing over there?”

Cora’s eyebrows rose, a playful smirk making her features even more lovely. “Listening to my fortune.”

“Oh?” Robert took hold of her gloved hand and led her to the doorway. “Good I hope?”

“Hmm,” Cora’s throat vibrated with the sound. “I don’t believe in that stuff anyway, it’s just for fun.”

It was Robert’s turn to chuckle. “Is the American more sensible than the British when it comes to the supernatural?”

Cora stopped and Robert turned to her. She lifted herself up on her toes, her mouth just below his ear. “I make my own fortune. Shall I show you?”

Robert bit his lip hard. He squeezed her hand harder. “I think it most imperative that you do.”

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corasorangejuice · 7 months

Text

In 1944 a kitten named George (short for General Electric) was saved from drowning by a U.S. Navy crew member. George was then photographed and given a liberty card and detailed health record. Source.

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corasorangejuice · 7 months

Text

elizabeth mcgovern as cora crawley, countess of grantham (with michelle dockery as lady mary crawley) , in season 3, episode 2 of “downton abbey” (september 2012) | 🎥: dir. brian percival

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corasorangejuice · 7 months

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"Do I look like I knew that?"

Fictober 2023

Category: Fanfiction

Fandom: Downton Abbey

‘What I don’t understand is why she didn’t just marry Gregson when she discovered she was pregnant,’ Mary said, shaking her head.

‘She couldn’t.’

‘Why not? Because he ran off when he found out?’

‘No, because he was already married.’

‘What?’ Mary goggled, shocked. ‘Edith was having an affair with a married man?’

‘I thought you knew that.’

‘Do I look like I knew that?’

‘But how could you not?’

‘Er, perhaps because nobody bothered to tell me!’ Mary cried, annoyed at being left out of the loop again. ‘Why didn't you tell me? It seems you knew all about it.’

‘It wasn’t my place.’

‘Your place? Since when have you been one to know your place?’ she retorted.

Tom narrowed his eyes at her. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘You’ve spent a lifetime doing things people said you shouldn’t!’

‘Are you saying I should have known my place and not married Sybil?’ Tom asked, sharply.

‘Of course not! I’m saying next time you know a secret, you should share it with me!’

‘But you’d expect me to keep your secrets.’

‘Well, yes, obviously,’ Mary said, looking at him like that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever said.

‘So, why would you expect me to break anyone else’s confidence?’

‘Because you’re my best friend and you should tell me everything.’

Tom grinned at her. ‘I’m your best friend?’

‘Of course, you are. Who else would it be? Certainly not Edith.’

‘Anna?’

‘Anna’s my best Anna.’

Tom chuckled. ‘Well, that’s nice to know.’

Mary rolled her eyes. ‘Like you didn’t already know that. That’s why you should have told me everything. Promise me you’ll tell all next time.’

Tom gave her an infuriatingly noncommittal shrug and smile. ‘Can’t promise that.’

Irritated, Mary childishly stuck her tongue out at him.

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corasorangejuice · 7 months

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“Is it over? When one loses a child, is it ever really over?”

Cora x Robert, Downton Abbey, 3x06

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corasorangejuice · 7 months

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Ok I’ve finally decided which ones I want. Headcanon 8 for Robert and 19 for Cora.

Eeee! Thank you, my friend! Xoxox

(This gif has nothing to do with shopping, but I love Robert nibbling a cold chicken leg happy as you like.)

8 - Robert & Shopping

This may be the funniest thing I’ve had to imagine in a while.

First of all, Robert doesn’t shop. He can probably count on one hand the number of times he’s been inside of a store. He WILL at Cora’s persistence or occasionally on holidays, but he’d rather not.

His clothes are tailor-made, and he goes to the tailor he’s always gone to in Thirsk for that.

His guns and saddles and wines and books all seemingly come to him thanks to people he employs (and Cora).

But he has shopped alone before. He’s gone inside a London jewelry store for his lovely Cora several times, though as he grew older learned he could have a selection sent from the store to Grantham House (if he was alone) or Rosamund’s house (if Cora was in London) for him to choose from. This was a far more proficient process; he always wanted to get Cora everything he saw for “oh, but this would look quite nice on her, too.” At least when the jeweler brings just a small selection, it’s no big harm done if he chooses more than one piece. (He likes to buy her pearls. Oh! and “those dangling type” earrings — he’s rather proud of the opal and mother of pearl ones he got her after the whole Bricker fiasco.)

He’s also gone into Hamley’s a few times on his own to buy his young daughters’ gifts, most notably a soft, stuffed tabby kitten for his three-and-a-half year old Sybil, a rosy-cheeked curly-haired doll for his newly seven-year-old Edith, and a little stuffed dog for his newly eight-year-old Mary. He gave them to the girls the night before he went off to the Second Boer War. (Cora had to leave the nursery before she cried.)

19 - Jokes & Cora

Cora has a better sense of humor than people think. She loves teasing, especially Robert…because he is pretty easy to tease. She loathes practical jokes for she hates to feel stupid and thinks they can be a little rude.

She naturally has a rather naughty sense of humor, and once told Robert a rather dirty joke that scarred him for life: They’d been at one of Lady Warwick’s parties the week before (where they were scandalized lol ahem @modernamericangirl ‘s clever headcanon I’ve adopted) and in the quiet of their bedroom Robert observed that it was “likely quite hard for Lady Warwick to organize such a thing.” Cora snorted, “I suspect Lady Warwick likes things that are quite hard.” In spite of being married over fifteen years at that point, Robert could not believe her. He went beet red, mumbled something about him not understanding how she knew about such things, and then shook his head dismissively when, laughing, Cora said it was only a joke. “I’d never say anything like that outside this room.” She never again said anything like that inside that room, either. He couldn’t handle it. (Now, that isn’t to say he doesn’t appreciate read: throughly enjoy a wicked little tease from her when the mood is right, just not an outright vulgar joke. Too much, even if he thinks it rather clever.)

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corasorangejuice · 7 months

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elizabeth mcgovern attends the “walking with the wounded” gala event at bafta (february 2018) | 📸: richard young

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corasorangejuice · 7 months

Text

"No, you won't understand, ever."

Fictober 2023

Category: Fanfiction

Fandom: Downton Abbey

‘Mary, would you mind judging the best cake at the parish fair on Saturday?’ Cora asked as she took tea with her daughters one late May afternoon.

‘Me?’ Mary asked, looking distinctly unenthused.

‘Yes, I did ask Sybil to do it, but she’ll be close to her due date by then, so we thought you might not feel up to it, didn’t we, darling?’ Cora said, reaching out to pat her youngest daughter’s arm as Sybil fanned herself.

Edith turned away from the window, looking towards her mother. ‘I can do it.’

Cora exchanged glances with Mary and Sybil. ‘Oh, well, that’s kind of you to offer, darling, but I think Mary can do it, can’t you, Mary?’

‘Yes, of course, I can,’ Mary said, painting a smile on her face but still managing to look less than thrilled at the prospect.

Edith regarded them, taking in the quick looks, the concern and – worst of all – the pity.

‘Mary doesn’t want to do it,’ she said, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. ‘So, why didn’t you ask me?’

Cora shifted uncomfortably on her chair. ‘Well, you, er, you weren’t supposed to be here for the fair. You were supposed to be on your…’

‘Honeymoon. You can say it, Mama. I was supposed to be on my honeymoon. But I’m not on my honeymoon, am I? So, I can do it.' Edith surveyed her family feeling her temper quicken. 'Unless, of course, only married women are considered capable of judging the quality of cakes. In which case, obviously, I’m not suited to the job.’

There was an awkward silence for a moment until Cora spoke again, adopting a soothing tone.

‘Of course not, darling. I just wasn’t sure if you were ready for…’

‘For what? Facing the villagers after they all saw me being jilted at the altar?’ Edith snapped, perilously close to either losing her temper or bursting into tears. It was a toss-up between which would be most likely to happen.

‘Well… yes,’ Cora admitted, looking at her daughter with sympathetic eyes.

‘They already witnessed the main event, so I daresay the sight of me judging cakes won’t draw too much of a crowd. And I have to make myself useful, don’t I? Isn’t that what spinsters do?’ Edith asked bitterly, watching her sisters and her mother exchange more none-too-subtle glances. ‘Or would you rather just hide me away? The family disappointment nobody wants to acknowledge?’

Mary narrowed her eyes, annoyance overtaking the pity she felt for her sister. ‘Look, Edith, we understand that this is a difficult time for you, but – ’

‘Understand? You think you understand?’ Edith interrupted, feeling everything bubbling up inside her. ‘No, you won’t understand, ever. How could you? Were you humiliated on what should have been the happiest day of your life? No!’

‘Edith, we – ’ Sybil started, a concerned look on her face.

‘No! Look at you! Sitting there all smug because you have husbands! It’s all right for you, isn’t it? You’ve got your lives all sorted out, haven’t you? Mama, married for thirty years, surrounded by her daughters! Sybil and Mary married to the men they love! Sybil about to have a baby, Mary probably going to do the same! How can any of you possibly understand?’

Cora rose, walking towards her middle daughter, her hand outstretched. ‘Edith, my darling.’

Edith stepped away, shaking her head, losing control of all the emotions tumbling around inside her.

‘Every one of you has everything you want! I have nothing! Nothing! No husband! No prospects of getting one now I’ve been jilted! Everyone will think it was my fault! That there’s something wrong with me and that’s why Anthony wouldn’t marry me at the last minute! And if I don’t have a husband, I’ll never have children! I’ll be one of those women that people point at and whisper about! The one they'll use as a cautionary tale! You’d better be good, or you’ll end up like Edith Crawley, all alone without a single person to love her!’

Cora reached out, pulling Edith into her arms as the tears broke free. ‘I love you.’

‘It’s not the same, Mama!’ Edith sobbed, fighting against her mother’s embrace. ‘It’s not the same!’

‘I know, darling,’ Cora soothed, stroking Edith’s hair.

‘I want what you’ve all got! I want someone to love me! Me! I want someone who thinks of me first every day.’

‘And you’ll find him, you will.’

‘No, I won’t!’ Edith cried, crumpling into her mother’s arms.

‘Well, you won’t find him judging cakes,’ Mary put in.

Edith glared at her.

‘Give out prizes to the livestock farmers instead. There are more men there,’ Mary concluded with a smile.

There was a tense silence and then, despite herself, Edith began to laugh.

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