A/N: This idea popped into my head after having lunch with ladycobert. There are some references to lines from the show that you'll recognize. I hope you all enjoy, and thank you for your continue support! Special thanks to Dream of Ragtime for being my biggest fan, and to perioddramasxtheatre for helping me to work this out in my head. Also, thank you to syriana94 for my beautiful cover image!

January 1890

It was supposed to be the happiest time of her life. Yet Cora could hardly remember a time when she had felt more miserable.

She had arrived back in England only the week before, bubbling with excitement as her marriage to Lord Downton-Robert, she reminded herself, as referring to her betrothed by his Christian name still sounded strange and foreign-drew closer. The five months that she had spent back in New York had seemed endless, her only contact with her future husband being the occasional letter.

In spite of her mother's warnings and her own good sense, Cora had fallen hopelessly in love with the charming and handsome Viscount, and had hated being an entire ocean away from him. She longed to see him again, and had happily anticipated her return to England, visions of her fiancé and the wedding she had always dreamed of filling her head.

But that happiness had been short-lived. Since her arrival back at Downton, her dream had quickly devolved into a nightmare.

Cora had known during their courtship that Robert's mother was none too keen on her. The Countess of Grantham was formidable on the best of days, and had made it abundantly clear that she was against the match. But Cora had not anticipated the coldness and downright dismissal that awaited her upon her return.

And now, as she sat across from her soon-to-be mother-in-law in the library of the abbey, listening to her latest tirade-something to do with the choice of flowers for the church-she felt the sting of tears in the corners of her eyes.

"Is it such an imposition that I would like roses for my ceremony?" Cora questioned, fighting against the tremor in her voice.

"I'm simply saying," Violet enunciated, speaking as though to one who was particularly daft, "that the arrangements you are proposing are much too large and distasteful. This is a wedding, dear; not a communion in southern Italy." Violet laughed at her own joke, but Cora didn't find it one bit funny.

"Where's Robert?" she asked suddenly, desperate to escape.

"Somewhere out on the estate, I imagine" Violet answered, waving her hand dismissively. "Why do you ask?"

"I had hoped to spend some time with him." Cora looked down at her hands folded in her lap before chancing a glance at the countess. The look on her face gave her pause, but Cora continued on. "He is to be my husband, after all."

"You'll see him at tea, and then again at dinner." Violet's icy voice sent a small shiver down Cora's spine. "Do you honestly expect for him to spend every waking moment with you?"

"Of course not," Cora countered, her spine straightening in spite of her desire to flee the room. "But, we're to be married soon. I had hoped to have the chance to get to know him a bit better."

"I should have thought you knew plenty." Lady Grantham's voice was dangerously low. "You knew he had a title and an estate. Isn't that what you were after?"

"Now just a minute," Martha interrupted. "My daughter is right. She has the right to spend time with her fiance. As to the other, that's a bit of a low blow, don't you think?"

"We all know what this is." Violet was not one to be deterred from trying to make a point. "You or your daughter needn't pretend otherwise."

But I love him. The words stuck in Cora's throat. Nothing would be gained through such a confession. She had a feeling it would only make things that much worse.

"Lady Grantham," Cora began, "I know that you do not like me. I know that you believe me to only be after Robert's title and estate. But I intend to be a good wife to your son."

"Let us hope so," Violet huffed. "I should hate to think that I allowed this insanity only for you to change your mind halfway through. As I have explained to my headstrong son, marriage is a long business. There is no getting out of it for our kind of people."

"Well, my daughter will soon be one of your kind of people," Martha pointed out. "So let us drop the subject, shall we? We need to move forward in planning the wedding."

"Very well." At that, Cora sighed with relief, thinking that perhaps the countess had finally become bored with needling her. That relief, however, was short-lived.

"Out of curiosity," Violet's voice held a note of feigned nonchalance, "is your taste in wedding gowns as ostentatious as your taste in flowers?"

Cora had been in love with her gown from the moment she had chosen it. Each fitting had only confirmed that she had made the right decision. To have that decision questioned, when her mother-in-law had not so much as laid eyes on the garment, was the final straw.

"No. It isn't," Cora stated flatly. "I think my gown is perfect." She rose to her feet, ignoring the look of perplexity from her mother, and the look of daggers coming from Lady Grantham. "Now, if you'll forgive me, I need a bit of air. I think I'll go for a walk in the garden." Not giving either of the older women the chance to respond, Cora walked quickly from the room, her breath ragged with the effort of maintaining her composure, her chest heaving against the confines of her corset. She all but ran from the house, not bothering to go upstairs for her hat, gloves, or coat.

Admittedly, she had been ill-prepared for the barbed comments that were constantly hurled in her direction. She had grown somewhat accustomed to them during the Season the previous summer. The narrow-eyed glares from the English girls who thought her out to steal their men; a title-hunting American princess whose one goal was to elevate herself in society's eyes.

Cora Levinson had held no such aspiration. She had only gone along with her mother's wishes because she knew she would never hear the end of it otherwise. She had hoped to get through the Season and return to New York where, according the conditions she and her mother had agreed upon, she would resume her normal life and never be forced to cross the Atlantic again.

But then she had met Robert. Robert, the man who could make her heart rate quicken by simply speaking her name. Robert who, though she knew his original attraction to her had been because of her dowry, had shown her kindness and patience, and had actually listened when she spoke. And though had been well aware of Lady Grantham's disdain, she had hoped that once she arrived back for good that the older woman would have at least been cordial to her.

Now, as she realized that in a few short weeks England would be Cora's permanent home, living in the same house as her formidable mother-in-law, Cora couldn't assuage the sense of dread that settled into the pit of her stomach. What had she gotten herself into?