October, 1889
Anyone who observed the couple walking through St. James's Park would have thought them the very picture of propriety and elegance. The young woman walked with her hand wrapped carefully around the gentleman's extended arm. Her emerald green silk afternoon dress was striking against the browning leaves of the trees, and her dark hair was swept beneath an equally becoming hat made of straw and feathers. The man wore a similarly smart ensemble; his sable brushed cotton town coat complimented the woman's dress, and though the woman's hand made a wrinkled imprint on his sleeve, their slow, easy walk seemed effortless and well-practiced.
A companion trailed several yards behind them, allowing the couple a modicum of privacy.
Only someone close enough to hear their conversation, though, could begin to understand the troubles that plagued the two young people on this October afternoon.
It was Cora who spoke first, breaking a long silence as they reached the Blue Bridge.
"Do you ever think we should just stop doing this?"
Robert jerked to a stop, his arms lolling to his sides almost instinctively.
"There's nothing wrong in it," he murmured, knowing the words to be untrue even as he spoke them.
Cora turned away from his downturned face and looked across the bridge toward Duck Island.
"As lovely as this afternoon has been, as lovely as all the afternoons have been, I can't help thinking we're being rather reckless."
"But, Cora—"
Robert reached for her gloved hand, his thumb making a pass over her fingers. He stood awkwardly before her, shifting from one foot to another as he caught a glimpse of her chaperone standing now a bit too close for comfort. He knew that Cora had been paying the woman, five shillings a week, to maintain the ruse that Cora went out in the afternoons to pay calls and attend teas. And he knew, too, that he was complicit in this scheme of theirs; he had, in fact, been the one to first suggest it.
It had started nearly a month earlier, though they'd been in and out of one another's company since nearly six months before.
The season was supposed to have ended with their engagement. Robert had been courting Cora Levinson since nearly the start of the spring. Lady Delvile's April ball had been the prelude to it all; they'd danced an unabashed three waltzes together and soon after Robert began popping up at the Levinson's London residence with more consistent regularity. Cora was invited to luncheon at Grantham House where his family was welcoming but perfunctory. His mother had clicked her tongue in displeasure when Cora lumped spoons of sugar into her tea, but their other grievances with the potential match remained largely unarticulated due to the common knowledge of her fortune.
All through the summer their courtship continued. Robert took Cora along to the Royal Ascot and the Henley Regatta. He ignored his friends' less than subtle ribbing about him actually courting Cora's fortune, and tried his best to learn more about her. His vague feelings of concern over the thought of marrying for money were soon blurred by his growing feelings for the intelligent, kind American girl who was very clearly smitten with him.
By August he felt himself rather smitten, though certainly not in love.
He asked his father for his grandmama's engagement ring and enthusiastically slipped it on Cora's finger when she accepted his proposal during a walk in the very same park where now they stood.
It had all fallen apart only two weeks later.
Their parents had been the ones to blame, at least in Robert's estimation. He and Cora had watched like silent bystanders as their fathers attempted to negotiate terms of the dowry. Isidore Levinson was adamant that the money would remain in Cora's name; a trust would be established, he argued, and only money absolutely necessary to the health of the estate could be withdrawn, and only with his approval. Robert's father had taken the offers rather badly, had ranted and raged about Americans and their cocksureness, their inability to understand the nuance of the English aristocracy and the needs of a vast estate.
Bitter, tactless letters and telegrams were sent back and forth. And before Robert or Cora knew quite what to do, their parents declared the whole enterprise hopeless.
The ring was returned by messenger, and Robert found himself unexpectedly heavy-hearted when a letter from Cora did not follow.
Another two weeks passed with no contact between the erstwhile couple. Each passing day found Robert more forlorn. His parents had packed up and returned to Downton, leaving with similar expressions, though Robert considered their sadness related more to the financial quicksand they were in rather than grieving the loss of an almost-daughter in law.
The season had passed—it was too late now for him to make a new match.
But two days before Robert was to return to Downton (his stay only having been prolonged by an invitation from his sister and her husband to stay at Eaton Square), the winds began to change again. He was walking through the park, eyes fixed nowhere particularly, when he quite literally ran into Cora on the Blue Bridge.
Their mutual expressions of astonishment revealed more than any declarations of emotion possibly could, and before Robert could think of anything clever or even useful to say, Cora had burst into tears before him. They seated themselves on a bench and spoke for nearly an hour, Cora's ever-present companion looming in the distance. They spoke continuously, both repeating their disappointment over the botched engagement. Cora fiddled with her bare ring-finger and Robert fought the urge to clasp her hand in his own. She had been so very nearly his to comfort.
When they stood, finally, aware that their walks had been extended for much longer than either had anticipated, they appeared ready to part. But, yes, it was Robert—now that he thought back over it—who had called out her name, had practically begged her to wait. In too many words, for he tripped over the stilted sentences that came out nervously, he told her he still wanted to be married to her, wanted it more than anything.
He promised, before she could protest, that he would speak to his parents, that somehow they would find a way to set things to rights. Cora, perhaps naïve, perhaps hopeful, had protested only once, explaining that she would never compromise herself to any sort of indecent proposal.
And so they agreed that each would make their best effort, and that until a resolution could be found it would be the sensible thing to continue to spend time together.
Which is how the handsome couple found themselves on the bridge in St. James's Park once more, a month later, still trapped in Limbo.