AN: I've been enjoying for years, first as a Harry Potter fan, and now with Downton. I finally decided to try writing a couple fics myself, and this is my first. I'm planning maybe five chapters here, one for each of the nights I'll be describing.

Cora Crawley woke to the sensation of weight at her waist and warmth at her back. Blinking, she slowly realized what it was: her husband of five months, Robert, Viscount Downton, had fallen asleep with his arm wrapped around her.

They had made love last night, as they often did. They had a duty to fulfill, an heir to produce—she was growing increasingly anxious at the threat of failure in this regard; she'd had her fifth monthly since the wedding just last week—and he seemed to take pleasure in her body. She did not mind this; she even enjoyed it, and her husband was certainly gentle with her.

But there was a bittersweet sadness to these evenings. She would convince herself that Robert was in love with her and loved more than just her body—a few times, she'd even been bold enough, or foolish enough, to whisper an "I love you"—but he never voiced any declaration of his own. She had dreamed for months of falling asleep in his arms afterwards, and of waking up next to him the next morning, but each time, he would do as he'd done on their wedding night—an occasion, she refused to admit, that had broken her heart.

Robert would lie with her in his arms a short while, and then he would murmur, "Good night, my darling," kiss her softly, and slip off to his own room, leaving her to sleep alone. She hated his departures more than anything else in her new life—more than the homesickness that would engulf her at odd moments, more than the barbed remarks from her mother-in-law, more than the discomforts of the drafty Abbey on chilly English nights. Being left to lie here alone was a cold reminder that he did not love her and that their marriage was nothing more than a business deal: much-needed cash for him and his estate, a title and a new status for her.

And so it was with a breathless joy that she realized he had spent the night with a firm grip around her waist. She gasped, turning over to face him, and he awakened at her movement.

"Robert," she said softly as he blinked in the morning light, disoriented to find himself in a different bedroom. "Robert!" she said again, more forceful this time in her excitement.

"Oh, Cora!" he exclaimed, suddenly fully awake. He sat up quickly. "Please excuse me—I didn't mean—I must have been more tired last night than I thought—"

I will not cry, she told herself firmly. "You mean…you didn't intend to stay?" Her voice, devoid of any emotion, sounded like someone else's. She knew he'd seen tears in her eyes far too many times in the last few months, and she knew it marked her as an American who completely lacked the control necessary for a true viscountess.

He shook his head, smiling at her. "Of course not." He kissed her cheek as though he had not just broken her heart again. "I'll go so you can ring for Moore and have your breakfast."

He tossed the covers off and left, but she did not ring for Moore. Instead, she rolled over and buried her face in her pillow, drowning in the tears that so perfectly demonstrated her unfitness.