A/N Greetings everyone. I have been meaning to start this particular story for quite some time but had kept putting it off like the queen of procrastination I am. That is until a little trip to Highclere Castle the other day gave me the boot up the creative backside I sorely needed. This story is inspired from my visit to the majestic castle and some of the history that I learned about that day. Enjoy!

1903

It had not been a particularly extraordinary day. Robert had risen early as usual, pressing a tender kiss to his wife's temple as she slept peacefully. He had gone downstairs to enjoy his usual bacon, eggs and toast, did his rounds of the estate and come back home in time for luncheon with his wife and eldest daughter. He had then offered Cora his arm and they had taken their traditional afternoon walk, returned so that they could read to their three daughters in the nursery for a while and then Robert had left his girls to attend to the daily post. And here he sat at his mahogany desk, a small pile of letters to the right hand side untouched and another opened in front of him. Deciding it best to respond when he felt more alert, he folded up the letter and placed it to his left. Wishing that he didn't still have four more letters to mull over, he extracted the next one and opened it to reveal its contents.

Robert Crawley had been feeling tired all day. There was no denying that the events of the previous day and night had fatigued him but some days he really was beginning to realize that he wasn't as young as he still liked to think. Focusing his attention on the letter in hand he began to read. At first, his brow furrowed. But as his eyes travelled down the solitary page, they soon jumped away from each other and rose up his forehead until they could get no higher towards his thick brown hair. The Earl of Grantham was in shock. Total shock. Shaking himself he reread the letter another three times. Was this a dream? Pushing his chair back, Robert stood up, the letter clutched him his hand and took a deep breath.

Cora Crawley was sprawled languidly on her brand new settee, book in hand. It was late afternoon and she knew that in half an hour, the dressing gong would ring. She was very much enjoying her book and had no inclination for putting it down because it was giving her some rather interesting scenarios to consider. Pulling her gaze away from the window, where she had been paying no attention to the beauty of the large forested hill to the south, she once again disappeared behind her book. A knock at her door interrupted her. Feeling a pang of annoyance she carefully marked her page and rested the book in her lap.

"Come in," she called. The door opened swiftly and in walked her husband who shut the door behind him and leaned against it, puffing. Cora peered at her husband bewilderedly. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. I mean no. I mean, well, I-I don't know," he bumbled.

"For heaven's sake, talk sense Robert," she instructed.

"I… I think it might be easier if I just showed you." Robert removed himself from the door and walked over to her settee in the corner of their bedroom, handing her the letter. Giving him a perplexed look, Cora took the letter and examined it. Then she gasped.

"It's from…"

"The King of England himself," Robert finished for her. "I believe we are to host royalty my dear."