My Dearest Darling

Chapter 28

They had not spoken much on the way home from the doctor's office. There simply were too many uncertainties left to ponder, even after their visit and Doctor Wallsom's rather encouraging words.

There are still no promises to be made.

Hearing Doctor Clarkson say those eight rather simple words had been like a gut punch for Robert, just as much as him confirming his wife's diagnosis had been; especially because this time, they so strongly contrasted everything the other doctor said. Cora's decision to go and see the specialist after all had left Robert feeling so ecstatic and relieved that he had not even considered that the treatment might still prove ineffective, or that it might, in fact, be too late to try now. Those possibilities had been at the far back of his mind, and he did not allow them to reach the surface, even though he and Cora had spoken about it all on the ship taking them back to England.

There are still no promises to be made.

Somehow, that one sentence kept repeating in his head, like a broken record on an old gramophone, over and over again; at least until his wife's gentle words took him out of his musings.

"I'll just go upstairs and take off my hat."

He quickly turned to her, shaking his head ever so slightly, as if he was trying to rid himself of the gloomy thoughts that seemed to be haunting and taunting him.

"Oh, alright. I will wait in the dining room, Mead is surely about to announce luncheon any minute now," he replied, watching her ascend the stone steps, one after the other. Her pace was slow and she clung to the bannister; one could easily see that just reaching the first floor cost her greatly. Only when she had reached the top and looked back at him, a nervous smile gracing her strained face, did he turn away and go to the dining room as he had said.

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Robert stood near the window looking out over the usually busy square in a city that seemed trapped in a winter trance. The ongoing heavy snowfall made it incredibly hard to even make out the motorcars driving agonizingly slowly down below and it did not surprise him in the least that there were little to no people crowding the sidewalks on this cold and rather unpleasant day. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed his hands together to hopefully warm them at least slightly. His fingers still felt frozen in place, even though they had been back inside the warm house for at least ten minutes and he had been wearing gloves the entire time they had been outside. He could almost swear that he felt his thick, wet winter coat still weighing heavily on his shoulders, but that could not be. A footman had helped him out of it and taken that away immediately to dry a while ago when they entered the house.

"The weather is truly awful out, isn't it?" asked Rosamund rather cheerfully when she and Cora entered the small dining room together a few minutes later.

"England hasn't seen a winter quite like this in years, maybe decades, even!" exclaimed Cora acquiescently while claiming her usual seat at the table. Her concerned gaze, however, followed that of her husband through the iced windowpane.

"Luncheon is served now, milady."

"Thank you, Mead. I think we will help ourselves today," replied Rosamund with a gentle smile directed at her longest-serving staff member. He had been with her for so long — similar to Carson staying loyal to Downton for so many years — Mead stayed on with her when she moved into this house in Belgrave Square, unlike the majority of her former staff.

The elderly Butler curtly nodded and then quickly left the room, or rather what could be considered quickly for his advanced age.

Robert turned around then to face the two women, abandoning the restricted view out the window in favour of taking his seat at the table next to his wife. He quickly folded his napkin over his lap with one swift motion, the way he always did.