I blame my Hughsband (HuddyJoy0524) for encouraging me to write this fic and being 100% supportive of this crackship. I am fascinated by Harold Levinson, and wish he had more screen time/interaction with his English relatives, particularly Aunt Rosamund because quite honestly they'd be so snarky, awkward, and precious (in my mind) anyway…I could go on and on. As of right now this crackship is just a product of my overactive imagination. So this is an AU story that will primarily deal with Harold x Rosamund interactions, some Cora x Robert moments as well as Martha and Violet snark, and maybe some other assorted characters, based on need. Let me know what you think, if you think anything. And if you believe this is total rubbish that's totally ok too. Enjoy!
She always remembered him as the chubby youth with a head of thick copper hair, who couldn't even grow hair along his jawline. He spent most of his time near his mother, who was too preoccupied with her daughter's wedding to notice him smuggling the cakes prematurely from the kitchens. She noticed. But she didn't care to exploit such childish behavior. Not whenever Marmaduke Painswick, the handsome banker and self-made man from London, was offering her compliments she wasn't accustomed to receiving.
Now he stands before her in his smart grey tweed suit and overcoat trimmed with black fur. He's grown to match her height, his jaw strong and jutting out as he stoically regards the Crawleys standing in a row outside Grantham House. He still trails behind his mother, although this time he doesn't look desperately lost. He appears more comfortable when he clasps hands with Robert than when he tentatively pulls Cora into a brief embrace.
"And this is Robert's sister, Lady Rosamund Painswick," Cora announces ceremoniously as she escorts. "Rosamund, this is my brother, Mr. Harold Levinson."
"How do you do?" Harold takes off his bowler to reveal a round head now mostly bare, save for the patches of reddish brown that remain just above his ears and along the back of his head.
She lowers her gaze and extends a hand, hoping it will mask her surprise from this revelation. "Mr. Levinson, it's a pleasure to see you again."
His fingers squeeze hers, and Harold tilts his head to the side. "I'm surprised you remember our first meeting," He remarks, "I was quite the little brute back then as my sister often reminds me."
"Oh Harold," Cora rolls her eyes and practically scoffs at this. "Don't be dramatic."
"Your words Cora, not mine," Harold retorts with a lifted brow, following the procession back into the house.
Rosamund strides several paces behind, trying to disguise her amusement as her sister-in-law bickers under her breath with the other Levinson child they've mostly come to know through sensational stories. Yes, Rosamund thinks, they must only be stories. For Harold Levinson hardly looked the part of the playboy American Uncle.
He isn't terribly unattractive, no. Despite the fact that he's balding and a bit rounder than most of the men in his age bracket, he maintains a strong presence that's quite difficult to ignore. And in the brief moment during their introduction, she caught his eye only to discover his chocolate hued orbs were full of a guarded warmth, and quite possibly even, kindness. Even so, Harold Levinson bore little resemblance to the man she expected him to grow into all those years ago.
They eventually settle in the drawing room for afternoon tea. Martha and Violet square off in opposite facing armchairs. Cora sits in the empty seat beside her mother whilst Robert steals the remaining chair near Mama. This leaves the settee for Harold and Rosamund to fit with a comfortable amount of space between them. Shortly after their arrival, two footmen enter with trays of tea, sandwiches, and little cakes of varying shades and sizes.
"Milk please, if you wouldn't mind." Harold interjects, signaling to one of them.
At this unprecedented gesture everyone shifts in their seats somewhat, shooting curious glances of differing degrees in his direction. But its Rosamund's face that Harold gazes intp. He cracks a smile and admits dryly, "I never cared much for English tea by itself."
"Not that you ever had a cup before now," Cora counters with an air of annoyance as she reaches for a tiny sandwich.
"Oh yes, how could I forget?" Harold sits back, his arm resting across the back of the love seat. He regards her coolly, "My sister whom I haven't seen in thirty-some odd years knows me better than myself."
"That was your choice," Cora insists. "Not mine."
"Cora," Martha lets out a heavy sigh, "we did not come all of this way for you and Harold to verbally spar the entire visit. Harold, try to find something to agree upon. We wouldn't be here if it weren't for your latest business venture."
The rest of the Crawleys uncomfortably sip their tea, scrambling for a way to redirect the course of the afternoon conversation the Levinsons have somehow hijacked. Rosamund opens her mouth to say something, but is cut off by her Mama's sarcastic peal of laughter.
"Have we suddenly traveled back in time? I expect Robert will start pulling on Rosamund's hair at any moment."
"Oh it's only a bit of teasing between siblings, Mama. A perfectly natural occurrence," Robert assures her casually.
"Perfectly natural in the New World I suppose," Violet huffs smartly. "But you and your sister were brought up in a more disciplined world, my dear boy, where such behavior was not tolerated."
Martha regards her English counterpart through narrowed eyes, her lips drawing tightly together in a thin line.
Sensing the uncomfortable tension mounting, Rosamund suddenly finds her voice. "How long will you be with us, Mrs. Levinson?"
A few seconds pass before the older woman with auburn curls turns her attention away from the Dowager Countess. "The Friday following Lady Roses' ball," She answers in a more genial voice. "Then we leave for Paris for a week or so, followed by Italy, and I don't know, maybe Switzerland before returning to New York."
"Rosamund just got back from a trip to Switzerland, Mother," Cora supplies eagerly.
"Really now?" Mrs. Levinson arches a curious brow. "And how did you like it?"
"It was…quite nice. The Alps are definitely a sight to see," She carefully maneuvers around the sensitive subject with a slight curve of her lips.
"Although Edith fell ill from the drastic change in altitude," Cora explains as if offering up this information as a warning to her mother and brother.
"But the hospitals there are quite good about that sort of thing," Rosamund adds swiftly.
"Yes," Violet states knowingly, "it's quite a common occurrence in that region as I understand."
Rosamund glances over at her mother, inclining her head in silent thanks to a topic only they fully comprehend.
"Goodness," Harold muses thoughtfully, "it's a wonder anyone visits Switzerland at all then."
"Some might say the same for New York," Violet returns sharply, which earns her at least three glares from the other side of the room.
Harold surprisingly ignores the comment, and shifts in his seat until he's facing Rosamund. "So why Switzerland, Rosamund?"
She blinks back at him, momentarily stunned at being addressed so informally. With a shake of her head and roll of her shoulders she states plainly, "I had the sudden urge to improve my French. And it's Lady Rosamund, if you please."
"Really?" He marvels, his mouth dropping open, "And the Swiss are better conversationalists than the French?"
"Well they're certainly nicer," She insists before bringing the cup to her lips and taking a long sip of her tea. Setting it back on her saucer with some finality, she rises to her feet. Robert and Harold immediately stand with rapt attention. "I think I will lie down before the dressing gong."
"It was good seeing you again, Lady Rosamund." Harold tells her, a crooked grin splaying across his visage.
She can't tell if he's making a mockery of her earlier remark or trying to be sincere. Whatever his intentions are, Rosamund feels her cheeks flush unexpectedly as she stalks out of the drawing room.