Dearest Cora, I think now of the moment I first saw you. We were at the Grosvernor Ball. I was speaking to James, leaning carelessly against a wooden banister. He and I were complaining about the heat of London and the limp personalities of the latest debutantes. I remember a pause in the conversation and turning toward the receiving line. And then you were in the doorway, announced by some dour faced butler, your animated mother at your side. For the few seconds that you stood in front of me I lost the ability to think clearly. Up to that moment and to this day I had never seen anyone or anything so beautiful. Truly. James began speaking again but I waved my hand to still him, not ready to take my attention away from you. I had the irrational urge to walk up to you and touch you to make sure you were real. I wanted you then and there, with the petulance of a child.

Of course I never let you know this. I was reserved, showing mild interest. It wasn't to toy with you; I was too young and awkward to know how to act around you without making a spectacle of myself. And then I was too inexperienced and foolish to realize sooner that what I felt for you transcended lust and admiration and fondness. It was love, my darling, always love. Looking back, I think I must have loved you the moment I saw you.

You asked me to begin this journal after our meeting with Dr Clarkson. I don't know if you realized what a task you set before me. Englishmen do not write down their intimate thoughts and feelings, aside from Lord Byron and the like. But you asked and I have always found it difficult to deny you. And now that I have begun, it is far easier than I imagined. There are so many things that I want to tell you, that I thought I would have the time to tell you and now that it seems that time is waning I cannot stop writing.

Robert sat as his desk, his full concentration on the ledger he was balancing, settling the accounts for the week. The library was comfortable, the only sounds the crackling of embers and the scratching of Cora's pen on paper as she constructed her letter to Martha. Moving numbers from one column to another, double checking his arithmetic, Robert lost himself in his task. It was only after tallying the last of his figures, and placing his pen down, that Robert noticed the room had become silent, save for the still burning fire. Feeling guilty that he had been too engrossed to hear Cora leave, Robert was surprised to see her still on the sofa when he turned in his seat. Her pen was poised on the paper but motionless, as she stared into the fire, her brows drawn in concentration. He wondered how long she had been thinking about whatever it was that clearly puzzled her. Robert cleared his throat in an attempt to gain her attention. Cora startled and looked in his direction, a preoccupied smile lighting her face.

"Is something troubling you?" Robert asked casually.

Cora shook her head. "It's the funniest thing. I was writing Mother about Rose and Atticus's wedding and for the life of me, I cannot remember Lady Sinderby's first name!"

It was Robert's turn to cast confused eyes on his wife. "Are you quite serious, Cora?"

Cora nodded slowly in reply, her face clouding over, her embarrassment evident by the red splotches breaking out on her neck. Robert had never known Cora to forget a name. She always had an almost annoying ability to recall even the most remote of acquaintances.

They stared at one another, Robert waiting for some flicker of light to enter her eyes telling him that of course she recalled Lady Sinderby's name. Instead, Cora bit her lower lip and tapped the pen against her chin, obviously still rummaging around her head, apparently to no avail.

Her struggle making him queasy because of its foreignness, Robert blurted out, "It's Rachel, Cora. Rachel…"

"That's right!" Cora breathed, looking away from him quickly and down at her letter. "It was on the tip of my tongue."

But Robert had seen her, before she angled her face away from him, a brief look in her eyes that told him this wasn't really true. If she had thought on it all day, she would not have come up with the name on her own. For some reason, it was no longer in her memory. Robert observed her shaking hand as she closed her correspondence, the episode obviously troubling her. He rose from his desk and went to where Cora was, sitting near. Cora put her letter aside and folded her hands in her lap, unwilling to meet his eyes.

"How horrible of me, to forget such a thing!" Cora declared quietly before her eyes flicked up to his.

Robert placed a hand over hers, squeezing the fine fingers that clasped around his. "You're just tired, darling. It's been a long couple of weeks and we aren't as young as we used to be."

Cora laughed with him in relief, obviously glad to find an excuse for her uncharacteristic behavior. Robert chose to believe his own explanation, casting any lingering worry aside and chuckling with her, placing a light kiss on her cheek.

"Why must you berate me so, Robert?" Cora demanded, sitting down hard in her vanity chair.

When her only answer from his was silence and his probing stare through the mirror, Cora averted her eyes and furiously tugged at the pins holding up her hair, unwilling to wait for Baxter. She had yet to ring for her maid, needing something to channel her energy into.

When Cora looked up once more, she saw that Robert had snuck closer, now directly behind her. Tentatively he placed both his hands on her shoulders and began massaging the muscles. Sighing, Cora slumped forward, her head hanging low, giving him better access to the knotted flesh. She felt a popping sensation deep within as he worked the tension out of her body. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to relieve the stinging that had sprung up between her eyes.

"It's just gloves, Robert." Cora said, her voice tired.

"I know," Robert replied, his words measured carefully. "But I have dined with you for three meals a day, seven days a week for over thirty-five years, and not once have I seen you forget to remove them."

"I cannot believe you are scolding me like a child." Cora huffed, starting to wiggle away from his touch, her irritation taking hold again.

"I'm not scolding you," Robert said calmly, continuing to rub his hands up and down her arms, trying to pacify her temper. "It was an observation….a concerned observation."

Cora's eyes shot up, searching his in the mirror. Finding his image lacking, she spun around, pinning him with her steady gaze. "Concerned over what?"

Robert held her eyes for a moment before he sighed and stepped away from her. "It just seems, lately, that you have been...forgetful."

Cora stood now, indignation fueling her movement. And yet….and yet there was that nagging feeling that had been with her for weeks now, that rose up every time she searched too long for a word or when she tried to think of what she had done hours earlier and there was nothing but blankness. The nagging feeling was dread, at what specifically she could not put a finger on, but somewhere within she knew something was not quite right and she strove harder and harder to keep it from Robert's attention.