She was tired. That was the first thing that came to mind when Baxter woke her up from her afternoon nap to help her ready herself for dinner.
Cora had spent the entire day in their bedroom, fast asleep whenever someone came up to check in on her. She only left the familiar comfort of the bedroom to have luncheon with her husband, mother, and brother in one of the dining rooms downstairs, returning almost immediately after to get back into bed. Come to think of it, that had been what the entire last week had looked like for the Countess. The first few days after their arrival in America, she had still had enough energy to go out with her husband. She had shown him around the city she grew up in and visited the places of her childhood together with her Robert, but that source of energy seemed to have dried up entirely a few days ago. Since then, she had constantly been feeling so fatigued and her whole body had been aching.
This was no different. Her trustworthy lady's maid had woken her up a few minutes ago like she had requested to help her get ready for dinner downstairs with her family. By the time Robert entered the bedroom dressed in his black evening suit, Baxter was putting the finishing touches on Cora's intricate coiffure.
His wardrobe had not changed too drastically since his mother's quite recent passing, especially in the evenings. The men's evening suits had always been black for as long as Cora could remember. The only times she had seen Robert wear something other than a black dinner jacket was when they attended military dinners, which had luckily not been too often. Those were always so incredibly stuffy and full of self-important men in uniforms and their often rather silent and intimidated wives. Cora was more than happy that Robert had never turned into one of those men, and had instead only become more loving as the years went on.
Cora's own wardrobe, however, had changed considerably. She was not wearing one of her usual rather lightly coloured dresses she usually chose. The blue dresses had always been the ones Robert loved on her the most, seeing as they always seemed to bring out the blue of her eyes and the rich colour of her dark hair in contrast to it. He never ceased to remind her of this and she revelled in his compliments and the kisses that would most often follow.
Robert was taken aback when he saw her sitting at her vanity with her maid busy with her hair. Seeing his wife dressed in a black evening gown with matching black gloves already lying ready on the vanity in front of her was never going to be something he would get used to, and he did not want to. The dark colour was a stark contrast to her pale skin, as it had always been. The rather dim light of her bedroom made her look almost ghostly as the winter moon's rays fell on her slender figure, and, together with her now even more prominent cheekbones, it cast shadows on her sunken cheeks.
"Are you really okay to come down for dinner, dear? I could always ask them to prepare a tray for us to have in here," asked Robert. He kept eyeing her intently, looking for any sign of hesitation or doubts in her answer and body language.
"Yes, darling. If I don't leave this room now, I think I might start to go mad very soon," she replied with a slight chuckle as she put her silky gloves on and looked up at him with her big eyes. He knew that she was waiting for him to put out his arm for her to take. Putting on the gloves had become her sign for him to come and escort her down.
This quipped reply seemed to have appeased him – he instantly walked over and held out his arm for her like he always did, smiling gently at her when he felt her hand slip into the crook of his arm.
It worried Robert greatly that she was sleeping so much and still seemed so very tired upon waking and getting up, her movements had become so slow in recent days. But there was nothing he could do for her other than being there for her and listening to what she asked of him — which had never been much. And that fact had not changed in the least throughout their long marriage. This was one of the many reasons why he had never denied her anything she asked of him, he simply couldn't.
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"Harold was behaving strange tonight, wasn't he?" Cora asked when they were lying in bed again that evening after an otherwise uneventful family dinner.
"Why would you say that? I thought that this was just the happy Harold we got to know in the last few days."
He quickly turned over in bed and switched on the nightlight on his wooden nightstand. He wanted to see her face, or rather needed to. He needed to ascertain how much she was guessing already. Robert couldn't deny being nervous, and if she asked him what he was hiding from her, he knew he would eventually crumble and tell her everything.
Robert did not like keeping things from her, he never had and he was no good at it, he found. After all their years spent together, she could read him like a book. She just always seemed to manage to find exactly what to say to make him spill his secrets, or sometimes she even knew instinctively what it was without him having to utter a single word. That was usually a blessing — he never had to overly explain himself or his actions, she just knew. But he did not want to spoil anything for her. Not when Harold and everyone else had worked so hard to keep it a surprise for her, as some sort of parting gift, as strange as it might have been under these circumstances. It truly was an awful lot of work and quite a hassle to get everything ready in just a few days. And yet, despite that, they had managed it.
Bates and Baxter had already begun to pack all of their belongings into the leather suitcases in the dressing rooms – after all, they would leave for England again in just three days. Tomorrow would be stressful and the day after that he had promised Cora to take her to her father's grave. That, he was absolutely sure, would not be a walk in the park for her, either — not physically, and least of all emotionally.
She had told him that she wanted to visit Isidore Levinson's mausoleum on the last day they were spending in America, saying goodbye to him for the last time only a few hours before she would have to say goodbye to her brother and mother. It was all quite symbolic and sentimental, but Robert understood her. He would have done the same thing had the roles been reversed, or so he thought.
His mind was spinning with all these thoughts of the things he still needed to do while they were here and what he had to keep from her. However, he was quickly pulled from his musings when she spoke again.
"No, I did not mean his jovial conversation. There was less of that tonight. But he seemed somewhat... nervous to me? He barely managed to sit through dinner without twitching and fiddling, and he didn't touch any alcohol. This is not like him, not even like the new Harold."
She was nestled into his side, her bright blue eyes gazing up at him while her hand rested on his chest. So many things might have changed in the world and between them since their wedding day almost forty years ago, but this right there had stayed with the Earl and Countess throughout it all. Even when he had not yet told her that he loved her, she had been in that same position when they talked about anything and everything as they shared the bed. The situation gave him some sort of comfort, and it eased his mind, even if just slightly. He knew that this would not change, not if he could help it. This had become one of the few constants in his life he could and always would rely on, for as long as he was permitted.
"I do not know, maybe he just was not feeling well?" Robert replied, evading her searching eyes. He cleared his throat quietly and then went on: "I believe he mentioned something about the beginnings of a headache at some point in the afternoon, and I saw his valet with some powder and a glass of water going up the stairs when I came up from the sitting room earlier."
Please, let her believe this lie. Just this once. I do not want to spoil anything. I will never lie again if I get any say in that matter, but please let her take the bait, he silently pleaded with whoever was listening — if there truly was someone. He was seriously doubting that despite everything he had been brought up to believe in.
This simple explanation seemed to have done the trick, her inquiring look dropped and was quickly replaced with one of sheer sadness.
"Darling, what is it?" Robert asked when he noticed.
She didn't reply for a while, seemingly contemplating something while taking deep breaths. Something was troubling her and he patiently waited for her to find the right words for whatever it was.
Finally, she said: "We have two more days here before we leave for the harbour in the early morning hours on Thursday. I have spent the better part of last week here in my room, and I barely even saw Harold and Mother apart from the meals." Cora paused, and Robert was unsure whether he should reply or wait for her to go on. The decision was quickly made easy when her gentle voice quietly rang out again: "I guess I just feel guilty. After all, we came all this way from England across the ocean so that I could spend some time with them while I still can, and then when we finally arrive, I stay in bed for almost half our stay."
Her gaze dropped from his, coming to rest somewhere on his chest. She simply could not look her husband in the eyes. There was so much hurt visible in them, but also so much compassion and love and she could not deal with all those things while she was feeling this guilty about the present situation she found herself in.
"No, don't feel guilty, please. We came here to tell your family that you are seriously ill, to give you the chance to bid farewell to them. They understand it. Really, they do. And they truly appreciate you trying your best to join us for the meals. They would never ask that of you."
Robert turned to face her more fully, sliding further down in their bed to bring his head level with hers on the plush pillow. He looked at her intently, reaching out his hand to caress her cheek slightly. That was a habit he had taken on after he found out she enjoyed the careful attention whenever she was upset about something.
At some point during their conversation, Cora's hand had wandered further to his chest and started fidgeting with one of the buttons of his black nightshirt. She was mindlessly twisting and turning the small button, first this way and then the other, tracing the small stitching that held it attached to the garment with her thumb. She sighed, thinking of her reply.
"I know they wouldn't, I know. But I still feel guilty. This is my last chance to spend time with them, to talk to them. And now, especially with Harold's new future – I wish I could do more, had the energy to spend more time with them, could do better than staying in here all day and night and sleep."
Robert's hand came up to capture hers in his to still her fidgeting motions. His warm hand held her smaller one and he was slightly startled by their chilly touch. She was cold to the touch, despite the warm fire crackling away close to her side of the bed and the overall warmth in the room and the thick blankets covering both of them. His thumb caressed the back of her hand, drawing soothing circles, as he looked at her with a small and reassuring smile.
"But you can't and they know that. You really should go to sleep now, though. Harold has told me he has a surprise planned for all of us tomorrow and that he wants you there in the morning, even if that is a lot to ask of you," Robert replied quietly, not stopping his administrations on her hands to warm them. Upon seeing her inquiring look, he added: "That's all I know, but he was most insistent. I also know that you need your sleep and I am afraid tomorrow will use up a lot of energy, or so he said. Something you currently do not possess in plenty as far as I can tell. So sleep well, my dear."
She replied by placing a gentle kiss on his lips before nestling even closer to him and closing her eyes. Soon after, Robert heard her breathing get even and slow down. She had fallen asleep quickly again, and he followed suit only a few minutes later.