"I'm not sure that's how it's supposed to work," Robert Crawley said as he rolled onto his back and lay next to he wife of a week and six days, "I certainly can't imagine the great figures of history thrashing about like … " His words faded as he turned to his young bride who had put as much space between the two of them as she could while remaining in the bed and pulled the sheets up to her chin. He may have felt more awkward than he ever had in his life, but she looked afraid and that hurt him. "Are you alright? If I hurt you, I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry." She hadn't looked or sounded like she'd found the experience to be anything but painful and he had noticed a trace of blood on the sheets after he'd finished. He might not love her, but he hated feeling like he'd abused her. They hardly knew each other and she was so small, and delicate, and soft. As he thought of how delightful her body felt, he absent-mindedly reached over and ever so lightly touched her bare shoulder. That startled her and she pulled away from him so fast that she nearly fell off the bed. He was about midway through a flood of apologies, when she stopped him with a gentle touch to his arm.

"Maybe we'll get better at it." Cora said softly and she even managed the faintest of smiles. He was still the man of her dreams even if she knew she wasn't starring in any of his and she was determined to cheer him up.

"You didn't enjoy it, though," he said in a tone that sounded much more like a statement than a question, but Cora answered him anyway in a desperate attempt at conversation or at least a path out of the incredible awkwardness that had engulfed them both.

"I'm not sure that I'm meant to," she said trying to ignore the dull ache between her thighs. They lay in silence. They had no idea what to say to each other.

Robert Crawley may not have had any firsthand lovemaking experience, but he'd heard plenty of boasting from friends and cousins, read enough literary accounts, and had seen his fair share of "French postcards" and, while he would never compare the future Countess in the bed beside him to some tart who posed for dirty pictures, he had always been under the impression that this was supposed to be a mutually enjoyable sort of activity. He knew that what they had just done had not been even remotely enjoyable … for her. In truth, if he hadn't been so concerned about his new wife's emotions, he might have reflected more on how much he had enjoyed the smell of her perfume, the sensation of her breath on his neck, and the way her soft body felt pressed so tightly against him. She really was lovely and that fact was not lost on him.

This was one of those things that had to be done, of course. Their honeymoon was nearly over and both he and Cora had agreed that they wanted to consummate their marriage away from Downton Abbey and, more specifically, away from Robert's mother, the Countess of Grantham, Lady Violet Crawley. They had waited as long as they could and had at least tried to get acquainted to some degree, but they were going to begin their journey to the Crawley family home the next afternoon so it couldn't be put it off any longer. If they arrived without having gotten this business over with, everyone would fear an annulment was in the works. Any uncertainty regarding the estate's future would not make Cora's assimilation into Downton life any easier and the possibility of attaining anything remotely close to detente with his mother would be absolutely out of the question. They had agreed that this was the best course of action, but they hadn't expected it would be this uncomfortable on so many levels.

Robert was brought back from his thoughts by the unexpected sensation of a small hand slipping into his own. He looked to his right and found Cora gazing at him. She carefully slid a little, tiny bit closer to him. He figured she was just trying to keep from tumbling out of bed in the night, but it still made him feel good. "We'll get better," she said softly as she squeezed his hand.

He smiled back at her. "We'll try," he said and sat up to blow out the last of the candles.