Everyone clapped as the photographer began another seemingly endless series of photographs and Robert was finding it difficult to conceal his discomfort. It all seemed so artificial, so false. The room was decorated for a lavish celebration of his upcoming marriage to dry goods tycoon Isodore Levinson's not-quite-ninteen-year-old daughter Cora, but Robert couldn't shake the feeling that he was perpetrating a great deception upon everyone there and especially on the woman - more of a girl, really - that he would be taking away from everyone and everything she knew in a few months' time to spend the rest of her life with someone she barely knew and all for American dollars and and English title. He fidgeted self-consciously and gathered up the courage to look down at his future wife for a fraction of a second in between portraits eliciting a chorus of chuckles and silly comments from the gawking party guests.

Even with all of the roses, chubby, winged cupids, and heart-shaped decorations edged with very intricate and delicate paper lace, if someone focused on the whole event as much and as cynically as Robert was, the whole gilded facade fell away quickly enough. The distance between the young pair, both physical and otherwise, was as clear as day. They barely spoke and when they did, either Cora's nervousness or Robert's awkwardness ensured the experience would be brief. The ones who talked the most were their fathers, usually in Mr. Levinson's office and each with their respective lawyers present.

Both Mr. Levinson and Lord Grantham had wanted to negotiate the financial arrangements in detail, but their wives had been adamant that talk of money not spoil the wedding day itself, even though it was no secret that that was the catalyst for the marriage in the first place. The mothers had insisted that what Lady Grantham referred to as "this whole untidy business" be handled on a separate visit to insure that it would play as little a role as possible on the day. The millions that were to serve as Cora's dowery would be absorbed permanently into the Grantham family estate after the wedding and before the reception with a few strokes of a pen. The thought had crossed Robert's mind more than once that, despite all this talk of "Cora's fortune" and "Cora's money" she herself would only be wealthy for about a half an hour - the time it would take for them to travel from the church to Downton Abbey - before his signature stripped her of it all.

As he scanned the room, he noticed his mother and Cora's sitting side by side, each a pillar of strength in their own way. The real business behind the visit was the work of the fathers but all the smoke and mirrors - the great charade to hide the transactional nature of it all - was their mothers' joint effort and they had put their considerable differences of opinion on nearly every subject aside to try and make the visit a chance for Robert and Cora to become more acquainted with each other in a place where Cora was most at ease. After all, these were two women who knew what it was to marry for love and, as much as they each did their best to hide it, the idea that their own children would be denied that in the name of money and status weighed heavily upon each of them no matter how much they would deny it.

"Now, Lord Downton, for these last few would you put your hand on the back of her chair, please? Near her left shoulder," the photographer instructed. Robert took a deep, mildly exasperated breath, raised his right hand, and let it drop into place, and knew as soon as he felt the warm silk and chiffon under his fingers and heard Cora's surprised gasp and the guests' laughter that he had managed to foul things up. He looked down at his hand resting firmly on Cora's shoulder. Slowly he raised his gaze to meet hers. He felt his throat tighten and his face burn, but he found himself incapable of looking away. She certainly wasn't unattractive by any stretch of the imagination. As he gawked down at her awkwardly, his gaze fell on her soft, full lips. He had kissed her before and as he stood staring at her, he could almost feel their warmth. She bit her bottom lip lightly, out of nervousness most likely, and his mind was filled with all sort of very ungentlemanly thoughts indeed. He swallowed hard, oblivious to the chuckles and knowing smiles of the guests. The photographer's calls of "Lord Downton" eventually brought him back to reality and the last few photos were taken without any further delay but Robert's hand never left his bride-to-be's shoulder.

After "the ordeal with that chap and his camera" was over Robert had helped Cora to her feet and then promptly took his leave of her. She had eventually joined a group of her friends and Robert, having no friends of his own at the party, had quickly retreated to stand by the wall and be gently lectured by his father.

"You can't keep running from her my boy," Richard Crawley said quietly, "or you'll be running for the rest of your life."

"Yes, Papa," Robert groaned.

The older Crawley cracked a smile as he continued. "There's clearly some interest there on your part…" he teased as Robert stood watching Cora as she stood across the room from him and laughed with the dear friends that would soon be trans-Atlantic pen pals.

"She'll be lonely at Downton," Robert murmured as much to himself as to his father. "She'll be unhappy and very alone and stuck there for the rest of her life."

"Well," Richard sighed as he gave his son's shoulder a pat, "it will up to you to keep that from being the case. You two may find that this match suits you both."

"And what's the likelihood of that?" Robert grumbled. His father tried to continue, but Robert kept going. "It'll be a lie, Papa." He picked up one of the delicate paper hearts off the table he was standing next to a looked at it disdainfully. "Just like all of this nonsense and paper lace - a garish cover-up for how empty the whole thing is. For goodness sake, we're leaving the country on Valentine's Day and yet the whole room is covered in these silly valentines!" he snapped as he threw the Valentine down on the floor in front of his father. He turned sharply away from Lord Grantham and came face to face, quite unexpectedly, with his future wife. He instantly regretted everything he'd said as he watched the tears well up in her pretty blue eyes. She looked as if she'd crumble right there before him.

"I'm sorry, Robert," Cora squeaked and then darted out of the room.

Robert followed after her while attempting to maintain as much decorum as possible. "Miss Levinson!" he called as he reached the stairs she was halfway through climbing. She stopped and, for a moment, she stood there just looking down at him with and expression he couldn't read.

"Miss Levinson?" she asked softly.

"Miss Levinson, I…" he tried to continue with some sort of apology or explanation as her lip began to quiver and in an instant she'd disappeared up the remaining stairs.

"My name is Cora!" she cried from the floor above as she ran to her room.

Robert sighed heavily and sat at the bottom of the stairs thinking about just how little he understood the woman he was going to marry.