"So much for an English summer," Robert muttered to himself, staring out the rain-soaked window of the hired car.

Several things had occurred to him upon his arrival in Liverpool, the first being that he should have perhaps arranged some sort of transportation back to Downton before he left Newport. The skies had certainly opened up in celebration—or, dismay—for his return. When he stood on the deck of the ship, remembering the few times he had done so with his family, the dark grey skies seemed appropriate for his mood and state of mind. Again, there was no one on the dock waving to greet him, no family to round up and help off the ship, and no familiar faces to greet.

Even the best-laid plans, it seemed, were subject to unforeseen circumstance. Robert still had the splotchy pages of notes from days earlier; they were tucked safely into his jacket pocket, however it had been at least two days since he looked at them. What seemed so clear and well plotted whilst on the ship seemed rather laborious and unpleasant in the light of day. All his scribblings were just mad ideas, he'd no idea how he would undertake them all on his own. As he sat in the back of the car and watched the rain patter against the windowpane, his suit jacket and hat soaked from standing outside for too long, he wondered if he had overestimated his capacity for change.

The boat ride from Newport had started inconsequentially. It was boring at best but the time had passed well enough with a good book or notes to ponder and edit. But after his great burst of productive energies, things became stagnant. As the ship sailed closer and closer to England, familiar pangs of doubt began implanting themselves into his thoughts. Edith and Rosamund were still in London; that would mean a train ride and another stay at the God-awful club if he were to speak to them right away. Mama was still in Scotland, which would be a far more involved trek, and Mary, his darling daughter, could hold a grudge even longer than he could. And there was still the matter of seeking out Branson, something he was entirely unsure how to do.

By the time the ship docked in the small Irish port…Tralee, or something, Robert was quite ready to be home. But alas, he had, in a moment of particular amenability, agreed to this longer crossing with an overnight stop. Some of the passengers ventured off the ship. He watched them from the deck, wondering what on Earth they thought they would find worth the walk in such a far—flung little place. He was content to stay on the ship and enjoy his dinner, still mulling over his plans for Downton and his family. The night passed slower than the others, no gentle rocking to put him to sleep, but it had passed without great interest. It had been but a small inconvenience, at the start. But somehow, still not entirely clear to him, one night turned into two. Getting a clear answer from anyone on the crew was a fool's mission; not one person seemed to know exactly what was going on. And by the time they finally set back out to sea, a day and a half later than expected, the only explanation he was provided was that there had been some trouble loading and unloading cargo at the port.

It was really a most disturbing interlude and only made his desire to return to Downton intensify. Then there had been rain, though, and a lack of transportation. There had been bargaining with the taxi-cab driver and there had been entirely too long a time spent waiting out in the rain, clothes and luggage getting horribly wet.

And as the car turned onto the drive, past the gates of Downton, the dark clouds that gathered over the property did not seem to bode well.

Robert pressed his hand against the glass and wiped away the fog that had collected. Rubbing slightly, he cleared just enough so that he could see the house as they came to the crest of the first hill. He expected it to feel different, somehow, but catching the first glimpse of the flag, flying as fluidly as ever, and of the yellow stones marking the solid walls, he felt little more than a brief calm that his journey was nearly finished.

The house came fully into view just moments later. It looked remarkably well kept, which he attributed to Mary and Matthew's influence—even if from afar—and he set about removing his cases from the back of the car. This particular driver did not remove luggage, even for the Earl of Grantham. He'd half a mind to ring the bell and wait for a footman to come get the bags but quickly remembered he had released all the footman before his trip; Carson would be the only one inside, and it seemed rather silly to wait for him to come all the way up for just two bags. So he proceeded to remove them, and pay the driver, stepping only in one puddle as he made his way to the door and rang.

The sounds of the motor driving away from the house, gravel crunching under the weight of the tires, was oddly comforting. All he wanted was peace, really, and maybe a hot bath to ease away some of the stress of travel. He waited for what seemed an inordinate amount of time before the familiar click of the door lock could be heard and then, seconds later, he was face to face with Carson, who looked slightly out of breath and was clutching a silver teapot.

"Your Lordship, I didn't expect you back so—"

Robert interrupted him with a smile, picked up the bags as he eyed the teapot, and walked inside. "It's quite alright Carson. I apologize for neglecting to inform you of my plans; I meant to send a telegram before leaving America."

Carson, obviously flustered, nodded politely and moved to set the small pot down on the nearest table. "May I take your hat, Milord? As I said, I didn't expect you back until—"

Robert nodded, interrupting him once more, and removed the dampened hat. The hall was warm, surprisingly so on such a cool, rainy day, and there were lamps on in each room visible from the main entryway. Robert frowned slightly, remembering his stern instruction that Carson simply leave the house be, but he supposed the dust had finally gotten to him. "Thank you for maintaining the house, Carson. You don't know how much I appreciate it. Has Lady Mary been here?"

Carson nodded again, fidgeting slightly. "Yes, Milord, but not today. Her—"

Again, he was interrupted.

This time, though, not by Robert.

The unmistakable intonations of Cora's voice sounding out, "Robert?" interrupted Carson this time, and both men turned, Robert wearing an expression far more shocked than Carson, to see Cora emerge from the library, needlework in hand.

For a moment, a very brief moment, he wondered if the sea air had finally gotten to his brain. A tingling, lightheaded feeling coursed through his body as he watched his wife approach him, dropping her needlework on the nearest table as she repeated his name with a tentative smile pulling at her lips. A quick glance at Carson, who had retrieved his teapot, confirmed that she was not an apparition.

Carson, took a step back from his employers and cleared his throat, explaining, "as I tried to inform Your Lordship, Her Ladyship was in the library…with tea," he added, nodding at the pot. And then, very swiftly, he nodded but once more before taking his leave, disappearing behind the library doors to leave them in privacy.

It was Cora who spoke first, taking another step forward as she reached out to clasp their hands together. "I was beginning to think you weren't actually returning," she murmured, looking up to meet his mystified gaze.

Robert stood from a long moment before squeezing her hands in recognition, or secondary confirmation, and replying, "Cora, unless I've really gone mad, I don't understand. How are you—how are you even…" he trailed off, distracted by her close proximity and the smell of her perfume.

"Here?" she finished. "Well, after I realized you'd gone, I went to the docks to see about getting a return ticket. The next ship wasn't leaving for another two weeks. I couldn't wait that long so I threw some things into a case and took the train up to New York. I got on a ship that night and arrived yesterday." She cleared her throat, pursing her lips slightly, and continued, "I checked with the dock workers in Liverpool; they told me your ship was behind mine, so I thought home would be the best place to find you."

"But, I still don't understand," Robert replied, in barely a whisper. "You—you told me that you wanted me to go, that you needed time." He held her hands tighter, weaving their fingers together in the hopes that his grasp would be strong enough to never let go.

Cora looked down at the rug, color rising in her cheeks. "I've gotten in the habit of saying far too many things that I don't mean," she said. "And, you didn't say goodbye," she answered softly. When he didn't answer, or move at all, really, she tried once more, asking, "would it be alright if I stay?"

"Stay?" Robert managed to whisper, ineffectually. She nodded, looking into his eyes, and released a great cry of surprise when without warning he swooped her up into his arms, spinning them both around in a circle. "Yes," he answered finally, setting her back down, but still securely in his grasp, "please—please stay for every day of every week of every year until the entire bloody house comes crumbling down," he replied, a wide smile on his face.

Robert, in a fit of utter happiness, picked her up once more, twirling them both as he felt his wife's lips press against his neck, her hands clasped together at the base of his neck.

The dark clouds, it seemed, were less a harbinger of gloom than he first thought.

The details of how exactly she and Robert ended up in bed seemed immaterial when compared to the fact that they were in bed together. Rain still fell outside, tapping against the windows of the bedroom, but the small fire Robert managed to light was enough to warm the room, casting everything in a most pleasant glow.

His thumb brushed lazily up and down her back as she lay in his arms, her chest pressed flush against his. Her fingers mirrored his patterns and stroked gently up and down his sides, her nails scraping so lightly it caused him to shiver every so often. They lay in nearly the same position they had only a handful of nights before, back in Newport. This time, though, the melancholic air that once surrounded them was gone. In its place were light touches, a warm embrace and quiet, sweet words whispered into the darkness.

Cora felt weightless, relaxed into his strong embrace. She was nearly asleep when he cleared his throat, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and said, "I have plans, you know."

It was an odd parody of what their pillow talk once was. It was still tentative and careful. Not knowing quite how to respond, she gazed up at him, his face flickering along with the crackling fire, and asked, "do you?" He looked so beautiful, in just that light. Perhaps it was an odd thing to think, her husband as beautiful. He was strong, handsome, powerful. But like this, with her, it was all she could do not to sigh over the curve of his chin or the way his eyelashes brushed against her cheek when he leaned close to her.

He smiled, sitting up, and gestured for her to return to his embrace, pressing another kiss to her forehead when she crawled up toward the headboard, resting contentedly against his shoulder. "Yes, lots and lots of plans."

"Are they good plans?" she murmured in question.

Robert nodded, slightly, and tightened his grip around her. "I think so. I—I don't want you to regret coming here," he answered.

Cora stilled the movements of her fingers, breathing in the comforting smell of Robert's cologne before carefully extracting herself from his arms. She clicked on the lamp beside the bed, as she had so many times before, and turned to face him, drawing one of the sheets up to wrap herself loosely in. "I didn't come here," she started, "I came home. I don't expect you to forgive me, Robert. Not right away. But I hope you will." She took his hands, sitting quietly for a moment. "I want to hear all your plans, but don't make them for me; make them for us."

Robert, too, was silent for a long moment. "Cora?"

"Yes?"

"What changed your mind about coming home?"

Looking tenderly at her husband, his face still so hesitant as though she might up and leave, she burrowed back into the place beside him, nestling herself into the crook of his arm as she replied, "as soon as I woke up and you were gone, I knew I'd made the wrong choice. I'd been making the wrong choice for so very long but when I—" she paused, wiping an errant tear from her cheek, "—when I turned over in bed and the place where you had been was empty, I knew I wouldn't ever be able to sleep in that bed without you. I'm sorry for being so cruel, for blaming you for things that had nothing to do with you. It wasn't your fault," she said, looking purposefully at him, "it was never your fault."

Robert exhaled a long breath, settling back against the pillows beneath them as he began lazily stroking his thumb up and down her arm once more. "Cora?" he asked again, more hesitantly than before.

"Yes, darling?" she didn't turn her head this time, too comfortable in his arms to even open her eyes.

"Please don't ever leave me again," he whispered, so soft it was barely audible.

"I won't," she answered without hesitation. "I promise."

"Cora?" he asked one last time, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

When she answered, "yes?" again, he curled his body close to hers, leaning in to kiss her lips before replying, "I love you."

"I love you too, Robert. So very, very much."

Her words seemed to soothe him for, a moment later, after making a few passes through his hair with her fingertips, Cora felt his breath ease and quiet into the lightest of snores, signaling he was asleep. His body, a solid presence beside her made her feel safer than she had in months and reminded her of all she nearly let drift out to sea. She wouldn't—couldn't—leave, and while into his arms did not even care to entertain the thought.

She could remake her promise to him every day and never think again of breaking it, because if she knew one thing for certain it was this: Robert was, as he had always been, her home.

A/N: I would like to thank everyone who has followed this story, reviewed, and given me such encouragement. Your words were always so lovely to read and I appreciate the support. An extra thank you to my darling beta-reader and friend, ladycobert, who read, edited and helped me navigate writers block many times!

Thank you, thank you, thank you. xo GranthamGal