She hadn't wanted to be found. She'd left the house, slipped out rather quickly, walking as fast as she could to the gardens. There were a number of benches in the gardens at the Abbey . . . many of them holding a memory or two for her, for them. But she hugged herself and kept walking until she found one tucked in a corner. She sat hard on the bench, arms around her middle, rocking back and forth, forcing herself to breathe deeply and preparing herself to cry, now that she was out of sight of the house.

But it seemed that after weeks of holding everything she'd been feeling in, her eyes had forgotten how to properly cry. To release. Now that she had the chance, the tears that had threatened nearly every hour since that dreadful dinner refused to come.

It wasn't fair.

When Carson had come into their bedroom and announced that Nanny was bringing the children round, Mary, Edith and Tom had stood to go down.

He'd reached for her hand as she'd stood to watch them go. "You go down, too, Cora. I don't need you here with me all day, much as I enjoy it." He was smiling up at her, but still looking so pale, so tired and so pale. The lack of color in his cheeks made his hair greyer, his eyes bluer and more intense somehow. She was so terribly happy that he was alive – that he would recover. But every time she looked at him, she remembered how awful that night had been, how close she had been to losing him. It made her heart stop a little and her nose pricked with coming tears. Tears she didn't want him to see.

"All right, darling," she'd said, too brightly, looking around the room at anything. "Can I get you anything? Settle you into bed? Do you need a new book or shall I ring for more tea, dear - "

"I'm fine here. You've taken excellent care of me. You deserve a break with the grandchildren. Although you might ring for Bates. He was a crack at chess during the war and I think I've practiced enough with Tom lately to be ready to talk him into a game. I'll see you in a bit."

"If you're sure."

He'd kissed the back of her hand and smiled again. "Bates and I will manage. Go on, Cor."

She'd looked back at him when she'd readied to go, pausing at the door, but his gaze already out the window and a look of concern across his brow. She'd been tempted to stay, tempted to run back in and kiss his forehead again as a measly excuse to check his temperature again. But Bates' particular gait was sounding in the hall, so she had started down the stairs again.

And though she missed spending as much time as usual with her grandchildren, as she'd reached the bottom of the stairs, the urge to just keep going had become too strong. Reaching for her coat and gloves, she'd been out the door before she knew it, walking as fast as she could, head down, praying no one would miss her absence.

And now she sat on the bench, waiting for tears that wouldn't fall, wanting desperately to just have it out, get it over with, anxious for the cathartic release she knew she would feel if she could just –

"Ah, there you are."

Cora stiffened on the bench and felt her jaw set.

"I'm sure I'm the last person you want to see. Or, at least, I'm on that list."

She swallowed against a groan of frustration and prepared her words, turning just a tiny bit around to address the intruder.

"Cousin Isobel," the words came out harsher than she meant to, but she found she couldn't quite help herself, "don't say such things, you've been so helpful and kind – "

"No, no, you don't have to placate me. I know you came out here to hide from everyone in the family. You've been through an awful ordeal, Cousin Cora. That was a shocking event and a long, hard night for you both, with an arduous recovery still in process. You have been a pillar of strength and grace for your children, for Robert, even Cousin Violet and Rosamund. And of course, terribly polite."

"Thank you, but I don't – "

"The thing is, I know I'm technically in the family, but I'm also a bit of an outsider." Cousin Isobel walked closer. "May I?" she gestured towards the bench and Cora nodded slowly, still upset her solitude was being intruded upon but now curious as to what Cousin Isobel had to say. "As I was saying, I'm a bit of an outsider still. And I know that in this time, you want to be strong for your children as they worry about their father. And you probably feel you can't turn to Mary, as she's recently lost a husband. Nor would you rely on Edith, as she's rather in the same boat. Rosamund, as well. Your mother is an ocean away, and I don't know how much any of us rely on Cousin Violet for sympathy in the best of times. And she's quite shaken herself. But I thought, if you'll let me, perhaps I could be of some help."

Cora mused for a moment over the very astute summary Cousin Isobel had just delivered, before she sat up quite suddenly. "Oh my God – you've all – you've all lost your husbands, and I've been given a second chance with mine, and here I am, hiding in the gardens, I'm, I'm – " she found she couldn't quite go on.

"You've done nothing wrong, so please, don't be sorry about it. It's not a club you want membership to. And you must know that Robert means a great deal to all of us. He is not just the Earl – he is so loved by your family, the people of the estate, the town. Mrs. Hughes told me that everyone downstairs was simply beside themselves at the news, Mr. Carson especially, and they rejoiced at hearing he would recover. Robert's loss would have been a terrible blow to many, and we're so very glad he's recovering so well."

At her mention of the family and the estate and Robert's significance in the lives of so many people around them, Cora felt a tiny crack in the mask of control and strength she had been wearing the past few weeks. The Countess part of her mind had already been preparing what would be an appropriate remark when Isobel spoke again.

"I've never told you much about my late husband, Reggie."

Cora stifled her surprise at the abrupt change in subject. "No, you haven't," she agreed softly, wiping away a few stray tears that had squeezed out as she'd thought of Robert.

"It always hurts a little to talk about, even after all these years."

Cora turned and regarded her cousin, who had throw her head back into the sun and was smiling with her eyes closed in memory. "He was so very passionate about his job, about his research. We could talk about anything for hours. So much personality, and so generous. He would have been handsome otherwise but I was positively sick with love when we married. And to work side by side, and then to come home and still be together, to wake up the next day and do it all again. It was perfection."

"I've seen your wedding photo. Matthew brought it over once to show Mary, and I sneaked a quick look. You were both quite good-looking, Cousin Isobel, and even in a photo I could tell you were much in love."

Isobel lowered her head and looked down at her hands, still smiling, but now somewhat sadly. "We were. I'm still in love with him. I always will be. And losing Matthew, losing our child, my last living part of him, was harder than . . . " she looked away, and Cora reached out a hand to cover hers in sympathy. For although she still had Robert, she knew well that pain of losing a child.

The women sat quietly for a few moments in sympathetic understanding until Isobel continued, turning back to face Cora fully.

"We're both so very fortunate, to have known that kind of all-consuming, life-altering love."

Cora choked on a tiny sob at Isobel's words, and felt a few more tears make their way down her cheeks, falling into her lap.

"You perhaps even more than I, for we both know how rare it is to find such a thing among 'your kind of people,' as Mary used to always be so fond of saying."

Cora looked up, worried, but there was no bitterness in Cousin Isobel's face or tone, just a small smile as she pressed on. "And you've every right to take a moment to yourself, and feel everything it is that you are feeling, Cora. I encourage you to do so. It might not be very British of me, but it is honest."

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, as Cora thought over what Isobel had said.

"Thank you, Isobel, truly. You're right – I haven't wanted to burden anyone, especially not the girls, especially not Robert. And I –" she paused, looking out over the garden. "I don't even know what exactly I'm feeling. Still so scared that something could happen again. Terribly relieved that he's still here with me. Worried about the girls and the future." She looked down at her fingers in her lap, fiddling with nothing on her skirt, feeling the welling of tears come up again to her eyes. "And, I suppose, even guilty that I didn't try harder to make him take better care of himself," she finished, her voice shaking.

"I'd wager Robert is feeling most of that, as well."

"I don't want him to think about anything but getting better. And taking care of himself."

"Of course. But you've spent more of your lives together as one than as separate people. If there's anyone you can talk to about what you're feeling, anyone who would understand, it's him. If there's anything we learn from trying times such as these, I think it's that it's the importance of sharing what we feel with those with love. How painful it is to regret not saying what we should have."

Cora thought back to that night, the shock of seeing his blood pouring out as he convulsed to the floor, the longest walk of her life around the table to get to his side, and the words he'd said that he'd thought might be his last. She thought of the hours spent by his hospital bed, holding his hand, counting each breath his took in and out, whispering memories and endearments and prayers until he had finally opened his eyes and found hers. She remembered the brave face she'd put on for him and the girls, and the effort it required to keep it on since those first moments of terror.

"No matter what, I know you, Cora, and you will persevere through any trial. But you're not alone. Sometimes we have to be reminded of that – and to remember that just as we would bear any burden for those we love, they would bear it for us, too. And if it helps, I want you to know I am here to serve in any capacity in which I might be useful. Whatever the family needs." Cousin Isobel stood quietly. "All right. I'll take my leave. Perhaps I will see you at dinner." She started walking back towards the house when Cora called out.

"Cousin Isobel," she turned on the bench to face her. "You're not an outsider, you know. Not at all."

Isobel smiled. "Thank you. You're a dear to say so." They shared a smile of understanding. "I'll see you later."

Cora sat on the bench, listening to the wind in the trees, the beating of her own heart. Her hands felt suddenly empty and she longed for Robert's to hold them. She walked slowly back to the house, thinking over what Isobel had said. She thought again of the fear she'd seen in her husband's eyes, the concerned and faraway look on his face whenever he thought no one was watching. Every moment since he'd woken up in the hospital had been spent discussing recovery with the doctors, assuring the family that he would be all right and dedicated to his health, resting quietly. But they hadn't truly spoken to each other, just the two of them, had they? She hadn't wanted to burden him with her feelings, to cause him any undue stress, or have him think about anything but recovering. She so desperately needed him to recover, to live so much more life with her.

So no, they hadn't really spoken of it. It was the aristocratic English way – to soldier on stoically. But perhaps, as Isobel had suggested, he was feeling everything as deeply as she was. Perhaps he was even feeling as alone as she had often felt over the last few weeks as they'd both put all their efforts into keeping a brave front for everyone else around them.

"Oh, Robert, darling," she murmured, tears falling freshly again as she hurried her pace. Maybe she was wrong, maybe he didn't want to speak of it at all, but if he did, she so wanted it to be to her. And she realized suddenly that there were quite a few things she wanted to say to him. And they would bear whatever pain or emotion it brought on for each other. They always did. You always do for those you love.