A/N: This started out as a drabble/ficlet. Oops. Robert took over. This is completely from his perspective. The original prompt, from imagineyourotp on tumblr was "imagine your otp holding hands for the first time, and the moment their hands meet, butterflies fill both their stomachs and they smile bashfully at each other." Amazing what happens when your imagination gets completely ignited, eh?
Summer, 1888
Robert claimed all the waltzes on her dance card.
He had noticed her a few weeks before, her warm smile and blue eyes striking him first. Then her laughter met his ears once he'd got up the nerve to approach the circle of suitors surrounding her. He didn't ask her to dance, and he didn't join the suitors. But, standing just outside of the circle, he did find out her name – Cora Levinson – and that she was an American. The bits of conversation he could hear fascinated him; her voice was sweet and soft and her accent foreign, and she didn't say all the vapid things with which young English ladies always bored him.
Unaccountably, as he usually hated such things and went only because his parents made him, Robert found himself looking forward to the next ball.
Before this next ball, he'd casually asked his new friend Lord Henry about her. Lord Henry told him Miss Levinson was an heiress, and that her parents had houses in New York City and Newport, Rhode Island. Robert wondered why Mama and Papa hadn't already pushed him in her direction – except, really, he knew why. It was because she was American.
At the ball, Robert again kept his distance from her. He shared a few dances with ladies of his acquaintance, friends of his sister Rosamund, the young women his parents steered him toward. None of them really turned his head. None of them ever did, but this time he was distracted for a different reason.
His eyes continued to seek out the young American lady. He was drawn to her in a way he couldn't account for. Yes, she was elegant and well-mannered, but so were most of the English ladies in the room. There was something else to her. It wasn't that she was American; if he was honest, that was a factor against her. For Robert, it was despite her Americanness that Miss Levinson enchanted him.
Several times throughout the evening Robert became aware that he was staring at her and had to pull his eyes away. However, he began to glean bits of information this way, just by watching her. She had a carefree air about her; she laughed easily, chatted animatedly, and greeted new acquaintances affably. But he noticed that she was also nervous. The few times she wasn't surrounded by admirers or dancing or clinging to the arm of a friend, he could see that she took deep breaths and closed her eyes, her hand trembling as she held a glass or crossed a name off her dance card. Despite her self-confidence – which was also evident – he would guess that she was also a trifle unsure about it all.
It made him want to reassure her.
Every time a partner would lead Miss Levinson onto the dance floor, she danced with grace and poise, moving through the steps with ease, as if she'd been born dancing. But the waltz seemed to hold a special place with her. It didn't matter the partner. Her eyes shone and her smile never faltered, and at times she would simply tilt her head back and laugh. She danced like her feet had wings and that nothing else existed in the world except her, her partner, and the music that carried them around the dance floor.
It made him want to dance with her.
Miss Levinson smiled at everyone. And it was clear to Robert that anyone who actually took the time to speak to her found her charming, for they kept coming back to her – like moths to the flame. He didn't blame them. The more he glanced her way, the more radiant she appeared to him. And then… then, toward the end of the evening, she looked at him. She was with a group of people, and Lady Margaret – a young lady with whom Robert was acquainted and knew his friend Lord Henry had fallen quite hard for – had their attention. Lady Margaret was probably telling a story, as she loved to do. Miss Levinson had her head bowed in laughter, and when she raised it again, her eyes fell upon Robert. Instead of moving her eyes away, back to Lady Margaret, she let them linger upon his face. Before he realized it, he was smiling at her. Her own smile widened. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her, nor could he stop grinning like a fool. Finally, she blushed and lowered her own eyes. Blinking a few times, she met his gaze once more, her blush deepening and spreading down to touch her collar bone. She didn't look away until someone addressed her directly. Even then she seemed reluctant to turn her head.
Robert knew she smiled at everyone. But what made his breath catch in his throat and his forehead bead with perspiration was knowing through careful observation that it was the first time that evening anyone had made her blush.
It made him want to smile at her and see her blush again.
On the way back to their London house, in the carriage, Robert went over the evening in his head. At first it made him smile, but then he recalled a certain "moth" persistently buzzing around Miss Levinson all night. He'd been a handsome young man and quite attentive to her. However, her acceptance of his attentions seemed forced, now that he thought about it, as if she wished he'd leave her alone, but that she was too polite to say so. Robert could feel heat rise in his face, indignant on her behalf.
It made him want to protect her.
And, although the very thought astonished him, being that he'd never even spoken to the lady, it also made him jealous. Because, since she obviously didn't push the young man away, he'd been the one to bring her champagne, his arm had encircled her waist during a waltz, and his lips had touched her gloved hand at the end of the evening.
It made him want to punch the fellow.
A few days later, Robert ran into Lord Henry in Hyde Park. His friend grinned from ear to ear as he told Robert that he'd decided to ask Lady Margaret to marry him. Clasping his hand warmly, he smiled, happy for his friend. But at the same time, he wondered if he would be so excited to ask someone to marry him. He suspected he wouldn't.
His mind strayed to Miss Levinson, and Robert asked Lord Henry whether she would be at a particular ball at the end of the week. Being assured that she would, Robert smiled again.
Robert didn't anticipate how his heart would pound when, as soon as he walked in the door and spotted her in a corner with only Lady Margaret, he drew near Miss Levinson to speak to her for the first time. He didn't anticipate that her eyes would raise to meet his before he got there, that just her smile would nearly stop him in his tracks. And he didn't anticipate Lady Margaret not seeing his approach and fading away within his last few steps, leaving him without anyone to perform a proper introduction between them.
Miss Levinson smiled at him sweetly. He'd already been nervous – something new to him, as he'd never had trouble speaking to women before. But her…. Her smile undid him. He became tongue-tied, and his voice stuck in his throat.
She looked at him in some concern, a furrow forming across her brow. "Are you quite alright?"
Robert took a deep breath and tried again, flushing in embarrassment, but determined all the same. "I – I wondered if you would dance with me tonight." He closed his eyes briefly, knowing he'd already committed a faux pas in not introducing himself.
But instead of brushing him aside as the bumbling imbecile he felt himself to be, she blushed and her smile widened. She couldn't have known how that would disarm him. "I would be delighted." She plucked at the ribbon around her wrist, to which her dance card was attached. "Which dance would you like? You're the first to ask, so my dance card is empty." She picked up the pencil that also hung from the ribbon and held it poised over the card.
"The waltz, if you please," he said clearly.
"I'd hoped you would ask for that one," she told him, without a trace of bashfulness or irony. "The first waltz, then."
Robert wondered how she could be so bold as to tell him that. He hadn't expected her informality to charm him, and he blurted out, "All of them." At her astonished expression he felt himself get warm, and he wouldn't have blamed her if she'd slapped him right then and there for his audacity. But she didn't. She simply blinked at him. "That is, if you are willing," he amended, adding, "Please."
Miss Levinson blushed an appealing crimson, and she lowered her lashes with a smile– as she had when they'd exchanged looks at the previous ball. He couldn't help smiling at this reaction.
"I am willing," she said quietly, raising her eyes to his again, still smiling.
He saw now that her eyes were the most intense shade of blue he'd ever encountered, and they shone now with a light that he couldn't help thinking had been reserved just for him. It was silly, he knew, ridiculous. And yet – it enchanted him to believe that it was so.
Recognizing that he was staring at her again, he cleared his throat delicately and, feeling somewhat awkward standing there, he made her a little bow, knowing he was the one blushing at this point. He turned on his heel and left her there, catching her bewildered expression out of the corner of his eye.
Once he'd crossed the room that was nearly full of guests now and downed a glass of champagne, he twisted his head enough to catch a glimpse of Miss Levinson. She stood in the same spot, gaping at her dance card in confusion. And that's when he realized she'd gotten him so discombobulated that he'd never introduced himself. She had no name to put down.
Robert hastened to the men's dressing room and sat there among the coats and hats, his head in his hands. The only young lady to whom he'd been even remotely attracted, and he'd gone and bungled it already. He indulged in one more deep sigh, then got up. If word got back to his mother that he'd spent all evening in the dressing room, he'd never hear the end of it.
The third dance of the evening was also the first waltz. Robert found Miss Levinson standing at a table alone, having just come off the dance floor, fanning herself and taking dainty sips of champagne. When she saw him walking toward her, her entire face lit up. Robert took a deep breath to steel himself, in an attempt to ward off another awkward scene.
Putting down the champagne flute, she turned to face him more fully. She wore a gown of deep plum satin, which set off her alabaster skin flawlessly and complemented the flush in her cheeks. A tiara sat upon her elaborate coiffure, nothing ostentatious, just a simple half circle of small diamonds and slightly larger amethysts that matched her necklace and earrings – neither of these overly grand either – winking out from her brown tresses. In Robert's opinion, these relatively modest jewels suited her; she needed no flashy adornments to complete her beauty.
Once he was in front of her again, she extended a gloved hand to him. He had no idea how he kept his composure as he took her hand in his for the first time and bowed over it, kissing the back of it gently. Touching her hand gave him butterflies.
When he released her hand, she resumed fanning herself, smiling. This gently ruffled a wayward ringlet that had come loose from her coiffure and rested most engagingly against her neck. Robert had meant to say something intelligent – or at least halfway intelligible – but his eyes strayed to the ringlet of hair and the curve of her throat, and he forgot what he'd meant to say.
A soft chuckle came from Miss Levinson. "After you left earlier, I thought perhaps you wouldn't return to claim your waltzes. I'm gratified that you did."
Robert lifted his eyes to her face and smiled at her. "So am I."
At that moment, the musicians announced the next dance with a few bars of the waltz they meant to play. Robert extended his arm to Miss Levinson, the butterflies in his stomach stirring when she took it. He wondered how on earth he would be able to lead her through the dance without treading on her toes or tripping the pair of them up.
But he managed to get them both through it. What was more: she appeared to enjoy it at least as much with him as she had with her other partners.
When the dance was over, he guided her back to her table and provided her with a new glass of champagne before going to collect on a dance with a friend of Rosamund's. But as he led Rosamund's friend through the steps, he couldn't help thinking of how much he'd relished having his hand upon the small of Miss Levinson's back, her hand in his, and watching the unrestrained joy on her face. With his mind thus distracted, it was with surprise that he heard Rosamund's friend yelp in pain. He'd stepped on her foot.
Apologizing profusely, he helped her to a chair and asked what else he could do. After he fetched her a glass of water, she summarily dismissed him with a scowl. He was certain he'd get an earful from Rosamund later, but he didn't mind being sent away. It gave him a chance to surreptitiously observe Miss Levinson.
He couldn't stop smiling.
By the time the next waltz came around, Robert hoped he'd gathered up enough of his wits to stay calm around his dance partner. Despite the butterflies that wouldn't seem to disappear whenever she touched him, he thought he performed much better this time.
To Robert's delight, the musicians had their break after this waltz. As he led her off the dance floor, he noticed how Miss Levinson's hair curled into tight rings around her forehead and her flushed face glistened, and he saw a perfect opportunity.
An opportunity he took.
With a polite cough, he turned to the young woman on his arm and bent his head nearer hers to speak to her, the volume of chatter in the room making this expedient. "It's very close in here, and I thought I might try to find some fresh air in the garden. Would you care to join me?"
His request was met with another smile and a nod. Robert steered her out of the house and into the garden. Lanterns lit the paths, and other couples could be seen strolling around in the dim light, enjoying the cool night air.
Robert heard Miss Levinson inhale deeply. "My, that's certainly much better," she said. And suddenly, Robert wanted to hear her speak, just to hear the musical tones of her voice and her quaint accent.
"May I apologize for my earlier behavior?" he asked.
"Your earlier behavior?" She sounded confused.
They ambled along the path together, Robert's butterflies stilling somewhat as he got more used to the feel of her arm and hand. "Yes, my rudeness."
She shook her head. "I don't remember your being rude. You've been very polite to me. Nearly everyone has."
His brows drew together at the word "nearly," but he didn't want to pry. He changed the subject. "How long have you been in England? You're American, are you not?"
She nodded. "Yes, I grew up mainly in New York and Newport. That's in Rhode Island. We've been here – Mother and I – in London, for a little over a month."
"And – and how long will you stay?" Robert wasn't sure why the answer to this question seemed to matter to him as much as it seemed to.
Miss Levinson took a deep breath before saying, "It depends upon what happens over the Season. I'm an heiress, you see, and my mother wants me to marry someone with a title. If I did, I suppose I would be staying here indefinitely."
The tremble in her voice gave Robert pause. "But you don't want that." It slipped out before he could think about how impertinent it was of him to say it. "Forgive me," he said. "I forgot myself."
Halting on the path, Miss Levinson looked at him in something akin to amusement. "You're not the sort to forget himself, are you?" She gave him a smile, her eyes alight in the glow cast by the nearest lantern. "Don't answer that. And don't apologize, please. Because it's only true, you know." She nudged him into strolling along with her again. "Well, not completely true. If I found someone for whom I could see myself giving up the entire world I know, then I would stay in a heartbeat. But I won't do it just to make my mother happy. I'd rather go back home, to my friends." She sighed a bit. "I don't have any friends here," she stated with another shake of her head.
"But," he objected, "you're always surrounded by people – laughing, talking. And what about Lady Margaret?" He was barely aware of squeezing her arm against him in sympathy at the sadness in her voice.
"Lady Margaret is a dear, and she's been very good to me, introducing me to people and making sure I'm comfortable, but she's not a friend. At least, not the kind I had at home. We don't share confidences, we don't go for walks in the park, we don't visit the shops, and I don't go to her house for tea." She let out another sigh, and Robert got the impression that she didn't know she was doing it. "As for the others – I'm sure you know just as well as anyone that I'm somewhat of a novelty. They want to hear me speak; they want to see how unrefined Americans really are and –"
"You're not unrefined!" he interrupted, nonplussed.
She chuckled at him. "Am I not? Aren't all Americans unrefined?"
Robert found himself chuckling with her. "I don't know about other Americans, but I haven't seen or heard anything lacking in you yet. Although I do find your frankness a bit unnerving. I'm not used to that."
She grew serious once again. "No, I'm understanding more and more that I rub people the wrong way here. I have run ins with English reserve time and again, and when people aren't simply offended, I'm cognizant they're laughing up their sleeves at me. They think I don't know, but I do. And they think I'm not hurt by it, but I am."
Stopping, Robert turned to her. "You haven't rubbed me the wrong way."
She smiled at him tentatively. "I haven't? Well, give it time. I'm sure I will."
"No, I can't imagine that."
Miss Levinson blushed. "I don't see how you can be so certain. You've already said you find my blunt manners unnerving. You know, at home I'm considered more reticent than most people. I don't go around telling complete strangers my secrets." She lowered her eyelashes and blushed harder. "Of course, I'm not sure you'll believe me after I've told you all of that." She lifted her eyes to his face. "I don't even know your name. I truly hope I haven't offended you too."
The expectancy in her voice gave her words sincerity, and he hastened to reassure her, remembering the trembling hands and nervousness he'd noticed during the last ball – realizing he'd been right in thinking her a trifle unsure. "No, you haven't offended me. In fact, I was worried I would offend you with my candor. I don't normally speak so freely with friends I've had for years, much less with a young lady who doesn't know my name." He was pleased that she appeared relieved and even somewhat amused again. He cocked his head at her. "If you don't know my name, what did you put on your dance card for the waltz?"
Her lips twitched with mirth. "I made up a name for you."
Robert grinned. "You did? What is it?" He began walking with her again, quite forgetting that anything else existed outside of the garden.
"Ah, no, I think I'll keep that to myself. I'd rather hear your real name." She pressed her hand gently against his arm, sending the butterflies into a renewed frenzy.
"It's Lord Downton, actually."
They happened upon a bench just then, and Miss Levinson tugged him over to it, sitting down, and gesturing for him to do the same. Now he could see in the dim light her nose wrinkled and her brows drawn together. "I'm not sure I know what that means, really. Is that your name or your title?"
Robert laughed, and then stopped abruptly as her face fell. "I – I didn't mean to laugh. Please, don't look like that." Hardly knowing that he did it, he took her hand and pressed it between his own hands. "I simply found your question amusing because, honestly, I can comprehend how it must sound to someone who hasn't grown up with it as I have." She was looking down now, and he gazed at the top of her head, hoping he hadn't hurt her feelings. "I've never thought of it that way, but it is rather ridiculous in a way. I'm called Lord Downton, just as my father is called Lord Grantham, but they're not our names. It – " He cut himself off, feeling uncomfortable and remorseful for laughing after what she'd disclosed to him. "Please look at me? I'm sorry. I am."
Miss Levinson raised her head and met his gaze. She didn't appear sad, but Robert found her expression difficult to read.
"I'm Robert Crawley." He gave her a small smile in hopes that she would return it.
She did, which put his mind somewhat at ease. "It's a nice name. I'm Cora Levinson."
"I knew your name. Lord Henry, my friend, told me."
A furrow appeared in her forehead. "But, you've never addressed me by my name. If you knew it, why didn't you say so?"
"Because, Miss Levinson, we hadn't been properly introduced," he explained.
She began to giggle, and Robert grinned. "It didn't stop you from requesting to dance every waltz with me," she pointed out.
Robert could feel the heat rising in his face as he gazed at her. "You asked a question earlier, something about my not being the sort to forget myself. And the answer is, no. I'm not the sort to forget myself. But you, Miss Levinson… you make me forget myself."
She lowered her head, and Robert could see now that she was looking at their gloved hands clasped together. When she lifted her head again, her blush had spread to the roots of her hair and over her throat most becomingly. She gave him a tiny smile. "I do hope that's not necessarily a bad thing. If it is, then I'll have to tell you goodnight, because I wouldn't wish anything bad on you. But I would be disappointed if I had to do that, since I like your company very much."
"Even though I laughed at you?"
Miss Levinson shrugged. "I don't believe you meant to. At least, you said you didn't. And in all other ways I've felt more comfortable with you than I have with anyone else since coming to England."
Robert could hardly believe what she was saying. As much as he'd blundered and stumbled through the evening, she was still comfortable? "You have? My behavior – especially at the beginning of the ball – has been almost farcical." His eyes were wide with incredulity.
Fixing him with a serious expression, she pressed his hand briefly as she sighed. "Now, I'm probably going to end up changing your mind about finding me 'not lacking' when I say this. But – your behavior at the beginning of the ball, your behavior all through the night really, put me at ease. To have someone be nervous or uncomfortable around me is a first since I've been here. Everyone has put on their manners, cloaked themselves in politeness and convention and propriety and perfection, to the point where I've felt surrounded by people in masks. The only two who come close to making me feel at ease are Lady Margaret and Lord Henry. Although he really pays me little attention when she is anywhere in the room." She let out a low chuckle here. "As it should be."
Struggling with what she said, Robert remarked, "But there are rules of propriety, society, in America aren't there? Is it really so different?"
She nodded solemnly. "When you are an outsider it is. No one lets their guard down. It's one of the reasons, I'm sure, that my forthrightness ruffles so many feathers. Perhaps they aren't so guarded with one another, but they are with me. Their politeness comes across as coldness. And their exacting manners make me feel foolish and small. But you – you weren't like that. From the moment I saw you smile at me across the room at the last ball, I had a strong impression that you would be genuine with me." She smiled. "I'm happy I was right, even if you hadn't planned our first meeting the way it turned out. Because this is the first evening where I haven't spent the whole time pretending to enjoy myself, all the while wishing I were elsewhere. So I'll hope you will take this as the compliment that it is, and let me say that I found your awkwardness charming."
Robert had let her speak at length, taking in her words, weighing their meaning. He knew he could be as offended as she thought he would be, but as he looked at her shining countenance, he also knew that he was anything but offended. Her honesty and her sweetness enchanted him in a way he hadn't expected. So he smiled back at her and squeezed her hand gently. "I hope you'll continue to find my, er, awkwardness charming, Miss Levinson. Because I feel a bit out of my element around you, to be completely honest."
Crimson stained her cheeks yet again. "I suspect you wouldn't admit that to anyone else, would you?"
He leaned closer to her to whisper, "No. Because it's never happened to me before."
Miss Levinson's flush darkened. However, before she could respond, Robert heard some male person calling out, "Miss Levinson?" and bearing down upon them.
"Oh dear," she said, her visage immediately falling. "I didn't realize how long we'd been out here. That's Sir Alistair coming to claim his dance." Then her face brightened. "But after that is another waltz. You'll come find me again, won't you?" She stood, preparing to go, extricating her hand from between his as he stood with her.
"Of course I will," Robert said, pleased that she looked forward to dancing with him again.
"Miss Levinson?" the man called to her again.
She tarried. "I – I don't know what I am supposed to call you. I confess I'm still having difficulty making sense of all the titles and modes of address."
He grinned. "The appropriate form of address is 'Lord Downton' the first time we speak, then 'my lord' after that."
"It seems very formal, if you ask me. But no one will ask the American, so I suppose 'Lord Downton' it is." She cast a glance behind her, where the man Alistair waited for her at a discreet distance, then sighed.
He bent his head toward her, a fancy taking hold of him. "You might call me 'Robert' – when we're alone, that is," he said softly, close to her cheek, pausing to inhale the scent of her perfume.
"Robert," she whispered, his name sounding foreign to him in her accent, but in an exotic, thrilling way. Then she turned her head and brushed her lips over his cheek before spinning on her heel and gliding toward her next dance partner.
Astounded, Robert touched his face where she'd kissed him, feeling a blush reach to the tips of his ears. He stood that way, staring at her retreating form. After taking the man's arm, he saw her glance over her shoulder at him, a wide smile wreathing her face.
Sitting down again, Robert wondered what name she had made up for him. And he wondered what she looked like with her hair loosened. And he wondered if his mother might not come around to the idea of his courting an American, since she was an heiress. Because he most certainly wanted to court Miss Cora Levinson.
But, before any of that, there were still the waltzes on the rest of her dance card. Robert looked forward to each and every one of them.