A/N: This fic coincides with chapters 7 and 8 of my Cobert fic Open Your Eyes. I've often wondered about Violet and Patrick's relationship, and I give bits of insight into my headcanon in other fics ("Purple" in Spectrum being a main one, but also their appearances in the earlier Cobert fics). Here, I give to you, my first Violet + Patrick (ViPat? We're still working on a ship name) story. It may or may not end up being multi-chapter. (Although my partner in crime – i.e. my reader and tumblr wife – really wants me to continue.)
February 1889
Patrick Crawley was proud of his son. While he didn't approve of his children disrespecting their mother, he knew that Violet had been unnecessarily harsh on Robert and his wife Cora. Ever since Patrick, Robert, and Rosamund had gone against Violet in getting Robert married to Cora – an American heiress whose dowry and future inheritance saved Downton – Violet could not forgive Cora the sin of being American, Robert the sin of willingly marrying her, nor her own husband the sin of encouraging the match.
When Robert stood in the drawing room that afternoon, he raised his voice to his mother for the first time that Patrick could ever remember and defended Cora in a way he'd never done before. Certainly Patrick had been witness to arguments between Violet and Robert where his son had done his best to show Violet why a certain action of hers was harmful to not only Cora, but to the rest of the family. But this time was different. And Patrick found himself incredibly proud that Robert had stood up to Violet – and not on behalf of himself, but of his wife. With this, Patrick believed that Robert had finally realized that he loved Cora.
It was about time.
Violet stayed longer than Patrick expected as Robert argued that neither the shiner nor the bruised knuckles were Cora's fault. Likely story, Patrick thought as he drank his whiskey and watched his daughter-in-law's face turn a charming shade of red and her slight figure fidget upon the chair. Barely looking up when Violet stormed out of the room, he grinned at his son and wondered aloud what sort of story went along with the injuries. But he suspected he knew.
After Robert and Cora had departed with a – most likely specious – excuse that they were tired from their train journey from London, where they'd spent the past several days, Patrick leaned back in his chair with a smile.
"Papa?" Rosamund's eyebrows nearly met her hair, she'd raised them so high. "What do you think happened in London?"
Chuckling, Patrick stood and touched his daughter's cheek gently. "Your guess is as good as mine, my mischievous girl." He smiled down at her – her red hair and robin's egg blue eyes reminding him so much of Violet when she was a mere slip of a girl. "I'll wager you that whatever it was you'll wheedle it out of one of them in no time."
Rosamund smirked. "Oh, Papa, I can't imagine why you would think that."
"Because you are a young lady of wit and persuasion who cannot be denied when she wants something. At least, I could never deny you, dear Rosamund." Bending down to press a kiss to her forehead – something she only allowed her father to do – he left for the library, empty Scotch glass in hand, to finish his correspondence, leaving his daughter smiling in his wake.
A simple glance at Violet as she came into the drawing room before dinner told Patrick that she was in no mood to speak to anyone. He sighed, but he knew his wife so well by this point, he recognized the futility of attempting to dissuade her from her annoyance. She would come around – in time. Until then, he would ignore her, just as their children did as they appeared and joined him upon the settee.
The three chatted for a while. Patrick asked Robert something about London and got no response. His eyes had been upon his drink, so he looked up at his son, who had a moony expression upon his face, saying in irritation, "Robert? Robert, are you even listening? I was asking you a question."
Patrick felt a bit bad for his exasperation when he followed Robert's gaze to a slightly blushing Cora in a cream-colored evening gown with an emerald green sash. He knew his son couldn't help it. But Robert pulled his attention back to his father anyway, with an apology.
They went on with their conversation for just a short while after Rosamund went to speak to her sister-in-law. Violet continued to silently seethe.
Robert and Cora were the last into the dining room, and Patrick couldn't help thinking that his daughter-in-law appeared particularly radiant as she took her place beside him that evening. He'd always approved of Cora – never mind her American upbringing. She was sweet and intelligent, beautiful and amusing, kind and honest. Patrick couldn't help taking to her the first time she'd set foot in their drawing room at the London house, and he had been happy to learn that his son had proposed to her. It had seemed an ideal situation; Cora had the money they needed, and anyone could see that Cora adored Robert, and that, given time, Robert would in all likelihood return that adoration. He already admitted willingly that he liked and even admired his fiancée.
Patrick knew that committing her life to Robert and Downton were not easy things for Cora. But the young woman had done such a wonderful job – even in the face of considerable obstacles, one of the most formidable being his own wife. Cora fought back in her own quiet, strong-willed way, but Patrick saw that Violet's near daily assaults and what Cora thought was Robert's lack of defense of her had begun to wear her down. Everyone in the household had felt Cora's depression of late, but tonight… no trace of this remained. Whatever had happened between Robert and Cora in London apparently cured her of whatever had been ailing her.
And it was clear, at least to Patrick, that his son had found a new happiness as well.
Quickly realizing that Cora's attention was lost to him, Patrick concentrated upon his dinner and Rosamund, who was on his other side. The main course still sat upon the table when he lifted his attention from his plate to take a sip of wine. But as he picked up his glass, he felt eyes upon him, and his suddenly met Violet's across the table. Her countenance had relaxed a great deal, and the lines that had begun to form around her eyes crinkled as she returned the smile he'd sent her way. She was still so lovely, and as he continued to gaze at her, her cheeks colored an enchanting pink, and he discovered that he couldn't tear his eyes from her.
The woman infuriated him and drove him to distraction with her stubbornness on a regular basis. But that was part of why he loved her so dearly. Their bickering aside – or perhaps front and center – he and his wife simply worked. Patrick saw Violet's stubbornness as the extreme of her perseverance, her determination, her diligence, which were all admirable qualities. And all had come in handy time and again through their life together. Another trait that had served them well was her pragmatism. At times her inflexibility overshadowed this characteristic of hers, but usually, where it counted, she served as a voice of reason for some of his more idealistic notions.
And he loved her. He had loved her since they were children.
He'd hated going against her when it came to Robert's marriage. But it was one of those times where her pigheadedness – and snobbish attitude, which Patrick would admit he often shared – had won over her practicality. And it pained him to see his darling Violet be so horrible to Cora, as well as to their son. He nearly always took Cora's side, for which Violet had been very icy toward him.
So, as he saw her begin to thaw, he couldn't help but grin. It'd been so very long since he'd paid her a midnight visit, and he wondered if she might be receptive to one that night. They'd been bickering even more than usual over the past six months or so, and he hadn't liked to assume that she was in any mood to entertain him – even though he was her husband – in her room. But tonight… the way she began to look at him made him hopeful.
After dinner, Violet walked through with Rosamund and Cora, her mood a bit lighter than it had been earlier in the day. However, she didn't necessarily want to speak to either her daughter or daughter-in-law, so, accepting a cup of tea from the footman, she went to the window and looked out into the night. As Cora and Rosamund chattered somewhere behind her, Violet thought of how Patrick gazed at her over the dinner table and felt heat rise in her face. It was just as well she faced away from the young ladies; she wouldn't want them to see her pleased expression.
She cast her mind over the rest of the day and fixed upon a detail of when Cora and Robert had arrived home. It was the exchange between them once Patrick had pointed out Robert's bruised knuckles. That may have been my fault, Cora had said. But Robert had answered, No, Cora. It was not your fault. It was his. And mine, for letting my temper get the better of me. I shouldn't have punched the fellow.
It reminded Violet of another incident, long ago, before either of their children were born. In fact, as she recalled, they were engaged and were at a house party somewhere. A young man had approached her for a stroll around the very secluded garden. When she'd politely refused, having no interest in spending time with anyone other than her fiancé, the young man – who she suspected was inebriated – had leaned rather closer than was comfortable for Violet and asked her again, adding a suggestion that had made her blush an alarming crimson. A smile touched her lips as she remembered how a livid Patrick walked up just as the fellow uttered the words. Without a moment's hesitation, her then fiancé dropped the two glasses of punch he'd been bringing for them and knocked the man winding. His friends arrived seconds later to pick him up off the floor and, graciously, to apologize to Violet for his drunken behavior.
That's when, as Patrick and Violet had decided to escape into the garden themselves, Violet kissed him for the first time. Not that they hadn't kissed before; Patrick had kissed her plenty of times. But it was the first time she'd been the initiator. She'd been so filled with gratitude and love – and affected by the thrill of the spectacle of Patrick hitting someone for her – that she couldn't help herself. As soon as they were hidden from view, she'd pulled his arms around her waist and kissed him soundly. From his wide grin when they finally broke apart, she believed he enjoyed her uncharacteristic spontaneity.
Violet's cheeks retained its faint flush of color when she turned at the sounds of Robert and Patrick entering the room. Putting her teacup into its saucer, she smiled at her husband, happy to see his answering smile.
But it was Robert who approached her. Her expression hardened somewhat, but not to where it had been earlier that day. His sheepish look combined with the black and blue around his eye made it impossible for her to stay completely mad at him.
"Mama?" he ventured tentatively.
Violet sighed, but she met his eyes, waiting.
"I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I did earlier. I was upset, but that is no excuse, and I'm sorry."
Nodding, Violet gave her cup to the passing footman. "Alright, Robert. I understand."
Robert's face took on a slight trace of confusion. It might be the closest she'd ever come to admitting she might have been wrong. He knew not to push for an actual admission, though. "Thank you, Mama." He smiled at her.
The last of Violet's ire for that afternoon's performance melted. She realized that Robert felt the same protectiveness for Cora that Patrick felt for her all those many years ago. Even if it meant that sometimes he would protect and defend Cora against his own mother. She sighed softly but gave her son a small smile.
"I hope you're keeping care of that eye."
Nodding enthusiastically, he grinned. "Cora's making sure I do."
Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, she contented herself to muttering, "I'm sure she is."
"Mama…." Robert's voice had a hint of warning in it.
"What?" She turned an innocent look at her son. She'd noticed the three others with their heads together conspiratorially, and she wondered with what she'd have to contend next. Another argument with Robert would not do on top of whatever they might be discussing.
Robert had a sip of his Scotch. "Please try to be nice, Mama."
"I don't know what you mean, Robert. I am politeness itself." She sniffed in offence.
Keeping himself from barking out a loud "ha!" proved difficult, but Robert managed it. Instead he rolled his eyes and mumbled, "Of course you are."
Once his valet had left his bedroom, Patrick went over to the door dividing his room from Violet's. But as he extended his arm toward the handle, he heard the sounds of an altercation going on in the next room. Soon he understood why the voices hadn't reached his ears on the other side of the bedroom; as the row went on, his wife's and daughter's voices grew progressively louder, until they nearly screeched at one another.
Patrick had known that Rosamund planned to confront her mother with her acceptance of Marmaduke Painswick's proposal tonight. He had also known that Violet wasn't keen on the idea of Rosamund's marrying him. But he hadn't expected this meeting to be so heated. And, within moments, Patrick would say, their words became clearly discernable to him.
"Mama, you're being so unreasonable!" Rosamund shrieked.
"I am not! And you need to rethink your tone, young lady." Violet's voice was as shrill as her daughter's.
"No, Mama, I won't! Because you don't understand! I'm not meant to do all those things that Robert and Cora will do. So why does it matter to you who I marry? He's rich – isn't that enough for you?"
"Rosamund, it is not enough! You are a lady and you are a Crawley, and I won't have you throwing yourself away on some nouveau riche tradesman of a family of no consequence in our circles, not to be found in Burke's! It's insupportable!"
"I don't care! I love him, and he loves me, and I will marry him, whether you like it or not!" Rosamund, although shouting at this point, also choked upon her words, and Patrick looked down at his feet, knowing that his dear daughter had probably started crying – something she never did.
Then he heard Violet's bedroom door slam. He went to his own bedroom door and peered out in time to see Rosamund's retreating form headed in the direction of Robert's room. Her sobs cut at his heart. He stood there and watched furtively as she knocked on her brother's door. After a few moments, she turned and went off toward the stairs.
For a minute, Patrick paused, torn between going to his daughter and going to Violet. He wondered how upset his wife would be over it all, and he didn't want her to think she was all alone. Closing the door silently, he crossed over to the dividing door, knocking upon it. When there was no answer, he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. A single candle burned upon the opposite bedside table from where Violet lay curled under her bedclothes.
She, too, was crying.
If not heaving the great sobs Rosamund had, still, he could see in the faint light how the covers shook and hear the soft sounds of her weeping. Sitting upon the floor next to her bed, he reached up and put a hand on her arm, saying gently, "Violet?"
Opening her eyes she sniffled and shook her head a bit.
"Would you like me to go?"
Violet shook her head again and squeezed her eyes shut, more tears sliding down her cheeks.
Just like Rosamund, Violet rarely cried – at least not to where Patrick saw it – and seeing her do so now made him feel as if a stone had dropped in the pit of his stomach. All he wanted to do was comfort her. "Sit up, darling, if you can."
Taking a great breath, Violet slowly sat up. When Patrick climbed up next to her, sliding his arms around her, she rested her head on his chest, still sniffling.
"There, my dear. Now you just cry as much as you need, and I'll be right here." He embraced her more securely, moving one hand up to cradle her face and smooth his thumb over her wet cheek. He rocked her soothingly, relieved when she began to calm down, settling even more comfortably against him.
Violet's tears finally stopped, but she continued to grip the front of Patrick's night shirt and nuzzled her nose into the soft linen. It'd been so long since he'd held her this close that she'd almost forgotten how he smelled: of pipe tobacco and soap and slightly of Scotch. He shifted slightly, and she clutched his shirt tighter, not wanting him to go. Her insides unclenched themselves as she realized that he'd merely moved a leg which was probably falling asleep beneath him. He continued to stroke her cheek as he resumed his gentle rocking.
She was certain Patrick had heard the row. But instead of going to Rosamund, he'd come to her. After so many months of feeling disconnected from her husband, despite how she knew he tried, she began to feel whole again. He'd cared enough to make sure she was alright, knowing that, for all her flintiness, she still had a heart that could be broken and feelings that could be hurt. Perhaps he'd forgotten. But he was here now.
Lifting her head, Violet met his eyes and smiled. She placed her hands on either side of his face to caress it.
While she did this, Patrick studied his wife's face. The last of her tears still sparkled in her eyes, making their pale blueness shine in the soft glow of the one candle. He'd kept his hand upon her cheek, and it struck him anew how her always regal beauty softened and seemed to be magnified whenever she smiled as she did now. He couldn't help smiling at her in return.
Then, gently but insistently, she drew his head toward her and covered his lips with her own. Patrick felt ashamed to realize that it was the first real kiss they'd shared in many months. The shame soon disappeared in what seemed a desperate attempt on his wife's part to get reacquainted. Her hands slid down and pressed into his chest as she deepened the kiss. Patrick pulled her closer, slipping his fingers into her hair just above the start of the loose night braid and tilting her head back farther to trail his lips down her throat. This tender contact sent shivers through her, and she sighed out, "Patrick."
Violet hadn't said his name like that in so long, and it did things to him. Perhaps they needed to talk; he thought they needed to clear the air between them, to understand how they'd gotten to his place where every time they seemed to get closer, something else would happen and they'd end up arguing all over again. Patrick hadn't even realized how far apart they'd actually drifted until Violet was in his arms again and breathing his name.
And when she did that, he couldn't think about the time apart; he could think only of how to reconcile, to comfort his wife – to make her sigh his name a hundred times more.
As he endeavored to do this, Patrick loosened her dressing gown, kissing her and thrilling over how her breathing grew heavier and his own heart raced. He couldn't have told you how her dressing gown ended on the floor or how her hair came loose from its braid, but the fragrance of her lavender lotion mingled with the scent of honeysuckle soap from her red tresses to create a mixture that contrived to intoxicate him more than any alcohol could ever do. But, despite the sense of haziness that accompanied his wife's touch, he felt no impairment. The unimportant particulars – like how his own night shirt came to join her dressing gown on the floor or which one of them had pulled her night dress over her head – fell into a smoky backdrop to the vital details: the remembered shape of her shoulder, her waist, her hip, her breasts as he glided his hands over her body; the feel and taste of her lips, her tongue, her skin; the contrast of her porcelain coloring to his more olive tones; the darkened blue of her eyes and tug of mischief at the corners of her mouth as she pressed him back against the pillows, straddling his waist as she bent down to run her hands and lips over his chest, her hair glowing in sunset hues and burning a magnificent sort of brand into his skin….
For Violet, as she kissed Patrick's chest and listened to the low noises he emitted from his throat, then raised her head again to gaze at him lovingly, the rest of the world fell away. It was as if he'd been gone on a long trip and had finally come home to her. She wove her fingers into his hair at his temples, noticing that, since the last time she'd done it, more silver had appeared within the raven locks. She recognized that she may have had something to do with that and leaned down to capture his lips between hers, an endeavor to kiss away any harm she'd done. Violet gasped into his mouth as he slid his hands down to cup her bottom through her drawers. He broke the kiss only to trace a lazy pattern over her neck, whereupon his name passed through her lips again, and she felt him tighten his hands around her, his fingers pressing into her flesh in a most satisfying way. Keeping one hand threaded through his hair, she snaked the other down to toy with his nipple, prompting him to nip at her shoulder before his mouth traversed down her chest. With Patrick's attentions settled upon her sternum, Violet shivered with delight. The rough of his cheeks brushed the sides of her breasts, and her nipples hardened even more because of this teasing.
"Patrick," she breathed again, still rubbing her fingers over his chest.
"Sweet heaven," he answered.
Violet let out a little shriek and then a giggle when Patrick suddenly seized her by the waist and flipped the pair of them so he was above her, her hair spread about her on the pillows, like a halo of flame. Her giggle died upon her lips as he focused his attention on her breasts, no longer teasing. Caressing one with his hand and the other with his mouth, he flicked his tongue over a nipple, rolling the other between thumb and forefinger.
As she arched her back and began writhing at his concentration upon her breasts, Patrick smiled. In a while, he kissed his way back up to her lips, then looked down into her face, cupping it in his hands. "Violet," he murmured. "I love you."
When she blinked back tears – something he'd not expected – he realized that, even though the pair didn't indulge in verbalizing their feelings very often, even in private, he couldn't remember the last time he'd said he loved her. And he could tell that she couldn't either. He heard her swallow hard. "I love you, Patrick," she whispered, pulling him down and kissing him earnestly.
Patrick ran his hands over her body again, lingering between her legs, brushing his fingers over her through her drawers. Her thighs clamped around his hand, her hips bucking. Violet bit his bottom lip gently, her own hands sneaking down to fondle him as well.
"Patrick," she panted into his ear, "make love to me."
Gasping as her fingers flitted over him in delicious ways, Patrick had to close his eyes to keep his wits about him before he could manage an, "as you wish, darling."
In no time at all drawers had been tossed to the floor. Violet wrapped her legs around his waist as he slowly entered her, and, putting most of his weight upon his elbows on either side of her, Patrick paused for a moment, her soft sigh of pleasure still ringing in his ears, simply to look at her, to trace his fingers over the contours of her face. Her beautiful lips curved up in a smile. She hooked her arms under his, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders.
Sliding his hands down, he wove his fingers through her hair and bent his head down to kiss her as they began to move together. Their bodies knew one another so well after all these years, that, although they'd been apart so long, each knew exactly how to drive the other wild with bliss. So Patrick knew to allow his hands to wander down eventually and beneath her to squeeze her bottom and press her hips up against him, and Violet knew to concentrate her petting upon his chest, occasionally brushing her fingers over his nipples.
When Violet had sighed his name a number of times – not nearly a hundred, but a respectable number all the same – Patrick concentrated on achieving the goal once more before he would be spent. He sighed happily when he felt her writhe and pull him to her with her legs again, crying out her pleasure. As she exhaled his name once more, her breath hot against his cheek and her hands twisted into the hair at the nape of his neck, it was more than he could handle, and he fell still in euphoria and exhaustion.
He could feel her smile upon his temple as he rested his chin upon her shoulder to wait for his pulse to go back to normal. "Do you need me to move?" he asked her gently, his hands rubbing the small of her back. He felt as boneless and contented as a baby, but would move if he was too heavy.
"No, Patrick. Stay right there for a while if you want," she whispered, now pressing her lips to his temple where she'd just been smiling. He felt her arms pull him closer, and he felt more at home in them than he had in many years.
For a while they lay like that, until Patrick discerned slight fidgeting on Violet's part. She hadn't said anything because she didn't want to disturb him, but she'd begun to feel the press of his weight. Carefully, he rolled off her, then sat up against the pillows. "Come here," he said, extending his arms to her, indicating she should sit next to him.
Violet fitted herself into the crook of his arm, twitching the sheet up over them. She lay her head on his shoulder and placed a hand on his neck, running her thumb back and forth over his jaw.
Patrick turned slightly and smiled into her flushed and glistening face. He brushed his fingers through her hair before saying, "No one could ever hold a candle to you, my sweet."
She blushed a little as she had at dinner, then she lowered her eyes, her smile gone. "Then why wait so long to come to me, Patrick?"
He'd known they'd need to talk about things. But her question hurt more than he was willing to admit. He sighed.
When he didn't answer, Violet lifted her face to him again. "It's not something we speak of – you've always just shown up. When you didn't…. Patrick I know you think of me as made of steel, but I've felt so alone. It's not even that we haven't..." She sighed. "I needed to talk to you. We don't discuss what we need to the same way anywhere else."
Patrick turned more fully to face her. "Violet, I'm sorry. Your annoyance with me was so palpable… I didn't think you'd want to see me. All we've seemed to do is disagree of late." He took a deep breath. "I should have asked. I see that now." He hated himself now for staying away. He'd not only caused his wife pain, but he'd punished himself as well.
"You've all been against me. I thought the last person I would have against me was you, Patrick. But we could have at least talked. Not argued, but talked. And this latest development with Rosamund; I don't think I can take it if you stay away again." She drew away from him now, clutching the sheet over her chest.
She didn't often speak of her feelings in quite this manner; Patrick believed that he might be the only one to whom she divulged such things. He realized he was treading on thin ice here. "I won't stay away, Violet." He touched her hand. "But our children – don't you want them to be happy?" His gaze was earnest.
"Of course I want them to be happy, if we can arrange that." She sounded very much her old self, and Patrick attempted to hide his smile, knowing she was completely serious. "But there are other things to consider."
Sighing deeply, Patrick wrung her hand in his, meeting her eyes. "Violet, darling, you're right that there are other things to consider. And with Robert, we had to consider what was best for the estate. The fact that his obvious admiration of Cora coincided with her fortune was a stroke of luck all around. Didn't you see them tonight? He's smitten."
"No, he's not smitten, Patrick." He opened his mouth to protest, but she shook her head. "I mean, he's not simply smitten; he's in love. He might not have been before, but he is now. The look on his face…. It reminded me of how you sometimes look at me." Her expression softened.
"Then, can't you accept Cora finally?" Patrick's look pleaded.
"Patrick, it's not so simple. I'm happy the estate is safe and that Robert can be happy. But – how is an American to fill my role?"
He pressed her hand. "She has you to guide her."
Violet couldn't suppress her "humph." Seeing her husband's disappointed face, she sighed. "I'm sorry, Patrick; I cannot help it. She's not English." He didn't speak, but simply looked down at her hand in his. "I'll try, Patrick. But I cannot promise anything."
Leaning forward, Patrick pressed a kiss to her lips and grinned. "She's an intelligent young lady; if you gave her a chance you'd realize that, Violet. I think it's one thing that drew Robert to her." Kissing her hand now, he said, "How can he be expected to want a silly wife – even an English one – when he has such a clever mother?"
Violet's eyes flickered with mirth, but she kept to the discussion at hand. "And Rosamund? What's to be done about her? She can't marry this Painswick man."
"I don't want to stand against you again, Violet, but can't you see how she lights up when she speaks of him?" He lowered his voice. "Can you imagine what it would have been like if I hadn't stood up to my father so I could marry you?"
"Yes." Violet took her hand away. "I suppose it would be very like the past six months have been for me."
Patrick bowed his head. "I'm so sorry, darling. I am. I didn't realize…." He heaved a great sigh. "I don't know what else to say. We can't get those months back, but we don't have to continue that way." He glanced at her, then waited for her to meet his eyes again. "I've never meant it to be that way between us. That having been said – would you want a whole life of that for your daughter?"
"No. But, Patrick, there will be a new season –"
He interrupted her. "Yes, a new season. Another one. How many must she endure? Most of the men are unlike our Robert and want silly wives they can manipulate. Rosamund isn't silly. She's shrewd and witty and she knows what she wants. Much like her mother." Patrick lifted a tentative hand to touch her cheek. "Please, don't punish Rosamund. Things are changing, Violet, and it's much more acceptable to have a new money husband – or an American wife – than it used to be. As much as you balk against it. We can't force our children into arranged marriages, not little more than a decade before a new century. Please, darling, just think about it."
Violet whispered, "This is why I've needed you, Patrick. You temper me."
Patrick gazed at her, grazing his thumb over her cheekbone tenderly. He knew why he'd gone to Violet instead of Rosamund. It was because he thought he recognized what might be her breaking point. Violet exuded strength, determination, but Patrick knew – better than anyone else – that she wasn't made of iron, and that her façade would crack eventually. It was why he'd defended Violet – half jokingly – to Robert earlier that evening when they'd spoken over brandy and cigars. No one knew Violet like he did. And he felt even more horrible for staying away from her for so long. "Oh, my dearest Violet. I'm so sorry." He drew closer to her. "I wish you'd told me."
"I didn't think I would have to." She nuzzled her head into his neck with a sigh.
"It seems we've both been stubborn old fools." Patrick wrapped his arms around her.
Her chuckle surprised him. "I don't know who you're calling 'old,' Patrick."
"No, darling. We're not old. Not at all. But I think the rest applies."
Slipping her arms around his middle, she shook her head. "No, I'm never stubborn – nor a fool."
"Of course not, Violet. Never." He kept his tone light, indulgent, although he really meant to be sarcastic. It wouldn't do to set her off again. He enjoyed having his arms around her too much.
And, in time, his hands had twisted themselves into her hair again, his lips caressing her face, then traveling down her neck.
"Patrick?" she inquired in a whisper. "Aren't you tired?"
He lifted his head and held her eyes with his. "No," he stated plainly, shaking his head. "You've awakened me, darling. I've been asleep for too long."
Violet smiled. "I've missed you."
"I missed you too, Violet," Patrick said. Pulling her more securely within his embrace, he hummed against her skin, "There's so much time to make up for."
Crushing his lips to hers, Patrick decided that he might try for a hundred times anyway – even if it took him all night, all week, all month to get there. Violet needed him, and he needed her, in all the ways that husband and wife were meant to be together. He knew the day might arrive when they became too old or tired or both to have this need any longer. But today was not the day.
And so Patrick did his utmost to make Violet sigh his name again and again.