First of all, thank you to everyone who has shown an interest in this fic and AU couple, thus far! I am shocked that so many of you are intrigued by this pairing. But quite honestly, it gives me so much motivation and reassurance to hear that some of you think this is well down. I am still a bit self-conscious about them, but I appreciate all the kind remarks thus far. So this chapter switches POV's a bit. I wanted to give both of these characters a bit more depth. Hopefully, they stay true to their canon forms...minus the deviation in their interactions with one another, which are entirely AU. Anyway, I'm always open to hearing your thoughts/suggestions/critiques. Enjoy lovelies!


Foolish. Impetuous. Harold racks his brain for the right word en route to Grantham House. It will prepare for his pathetic defense later whenever Lady Rosamund decides to confide in Cora of her visiting American brother's uncouth actions this evening. Then he'll brace himself for the inevitable: Can't you be trusted to do a single thing without causing trouble? Troublesome. He reluctantly adds it to the series of descriptors, knowing he fully deserves to carry the weight of each of these words.

What was he thinking? He wasn't. Not rationally at least. The respectable Lady Rosamund would never be caught with him. He was a Levinson. Not to mention one with several blemishes on his reputation already. He couldn't foresee a woman of her make and refinement mingling with anyone less than her social equal.

But even with all of this looming in the back of his mind, he can't stop thinking about her lips pressing to his in that single moment of weakness. He recalls reading the vulnerability that flickered across her otherwise stoic visage, feeling a certain responsibility for planting it there, even if he'd done so unconsciously. The sudden inhalation of her musky perfume made him aware of just how close they stood. And when her verdant eyes found his, the sheer intensity he found within them made it impossible for him to look away. She drew him in fully as she bit down on her lower lip, so obviously unaware of the effect she had on him until his mouth was already on hers.

And after that, their inevitable dissolution into embarrassment began.

He continues shuffling his feet rather brusquely up the front stairs leading into his sisters' family's home. He's about to ring for Carson when the door swings open to reveal the butler in his stately fashion. "Mr. Levinson," He regards with a tilt of his head, ushering the young man deeper into the house.

"Mr. Carson, will you have my valet meet me upstairs?" His intentions of quietly slipping away unnoticed to his assigned room are soon dismantled by the sudden appearance of his sister in the foyer.

He stops suddenly in his tracks. His stomach bubbles with nerves that crest over him like a peaking wave. "Still awake?" His tone conveys the surprise so obviously written across his wide eyed expression.

She teases with a demure smile, "Well someone needed to make sure you returned safely."

Harold rolls his eyes at this before meeting her at the foot of the steps. Casually slinging an arm around his older sister's shoulders he taunts, "Should I call you Mother now?"

Her elbow nudges him in the ribs playfully, a rueful smirk dancing at her lips. "I may be a Mother, but I am not yours," She slips out from underneath his arm, and proceeds to walk with him up the stairs.

"Well thank god for that," He admits dryly. "I'm not sure you'd be up to the task."

Cora doesn't respond to this condescending remark. But he sense her mouth tightening into a thin line, her brow angling to convey a slightly vexed look. He knows it well without having to turn his head towards her. Her burning gaze continues when she questions suddenly, "Did Rosamund make it home in one piece?"

This slows his progress, but he keeps his jaw squared and remarks swiftly, "Yes, she made it home just fine."

"I trust you tried to be engaging," She says it, although he interprets the lilt in her voice as more of a question in search of an answer.

Harold offers haughtily, "Oh I don't need to try. Not where Lady Rosamund is concerned."

"What do you mean by that?" She probes with a curious half smile curling at her lips.

"She's quite the conversationalist," Harold remarks fondly whilst recalling the many swift retorts and sarcastic witticisms he found amusing.

"Do I detect a note of intrigue, little brother?" She badgers sweetly. Grabbing hold of his arm, Cora leans into him until her chin rests on top of his shoulder as if anticipating some kind of confession.

He scoffs at this and shakes his head at her. Trying to keep an even tone he replies, "You detect nothing of the sort. I find her about as interesting as I find you." His elbow digs into her side, forcing them apart as they make it to the landing at the top of the stairs.

Arching a brow, Cora tells him as they continue down the corridor. "Don't let Rosamund hear you say that, she might take offense."

He can't help but wonder, "Is she the sensitive sort?"

"As sensitive as an English Lady lets on to being," Cora shrugs.

"Well that means little to me," He admits plainly, trying to gain some perspective he asks. "More or less than you?"

"It's hard to say," She wraps her arms across her chest. He watches her mouth twist to the side of her face, a sure sign she's giving his inquiry some thought. "Could be more, but if it is she vocalizes it less than me." Casting him a sideways glance, her brow furrows. "Why do you ask?"

Blinking back at her dubiously, Harold racks his brain for an answer that will not fully betray his intentions. "Just...wanted to understand where you fit in with the rest of your husband's family." He folds his hands behind his back.

"They're my family too," She reminds him, stopping suddenly when they reach the door to her dressing room.

"By marriage...but everyone knows you favor Mother and I over the rest of them." He shoots her a good natured grin that inspires a hum of amusement from her.

Half rolling her eyes at him, she snorts, "Don't make me laugh."

He mockingly gapes at her, placing a hand at his heart as if her sarcasm's wounded him. "Perhaps I can trade you for Robert, if you were to trade me for Rosamund? You know how I always wanted an older brother anyway." He shoves Cora in the shoulder, causing her to step off balance.

"I'm afraid you are stuck with me," She nearly rolls her eyes and exhales, "So no, you can't have Robert." He sees past her irritation when the corners of her mouth twitch upward.

Trying to stoke her amusement, Harold leans forward and mutters in her ear, "Well I know I can't have him like you do, sweet sister."

"Oh!" She swats his arm with the back of her hand, "Must you always be so crude!" Her cheeks flood with a severe blush at this unexpected innuendo.

He chuckles at her reaction. "I wouldn't want to contradict your already stellar opinion of me," The notes of sarcasm ring clearly throughout his words.

Smirking up at him, a tiredness etching across her face. Cora leans in to kiss his cheek, "Goodnight Harold." She pats his shoulder and then adds sternly, "Try not to get into too much trouble before morning."

He holds back the ironic peal of laughter until she disappears into her dressing room. Continuing down the corridor, he shoves his hands back in his pockets all the while thinking how much trouble he really is in.


Sleep doesn't claim her restless mind until the early hours of morning. She can't cool the burning between her thighs each time she replays the sensation of his mouth against her. Or stop thinking about the way his arms encircled her waist in a strong yet tender embrace that made her feel needed. And she can hardly forget about the pads of his fingertips drumming against the fabric of her thin gown as he rubbed his hands against her back. Even with all of these accumulating elements, the moment was entirely too brief for her to rightfully claim it as anything beyond filial affection. Yet she clings to the memory like the pillows she's propped up around her lounging form, hoping all of it will somehow dissolve the string of lonely nights that stretch out before her.

Several hours later, the bright sunshine peeks through the thick curtains she neglected to fully close. Perturbed by this careless overlook, Rosamund pulls the bed coverings up over her head in an attempt to shield her eyes. She rolls over in her bed, burrowing deeper underneath the many pillows on the opposite side. Regaining the comfortable position that made sleep possible appears to be nearly impossible. Letting out a disgruntled sigh, Rosamund casts the blankets aside and reaches for the bell to stir her ladies maid.

Moraine arrives rather promptly, delivering the breakfast tray to Rosamund's lounging form in bed. As she begins buttering a piece of toast, her eyes casually glance up to her maid who's sifting through her daily tea gowns. She pulls out a pale pink one adorned with patterns of gold roses painting across the bodice. "What about zis one, Milady?"

"A bit formal for a solitary afternoon, don't you think?" Rosamund critiques before nibbling on her toast.

"But yew are meeting wif Lady Spenzer for tea zis afternoon, no Milady?" The young Parisian clarifies uncertainly.

"Oh," Rosamund exhales heavily, recalling the social visit she arranged last week. It appeared her most recent fixations led to such forgetfulness of separate social affairs. "Right, of course," She shakes her head swiftly, focusing back to Moraine's selection. "Yes," She agrees diffidently, "that will do for tea at the Ritz."

Lady Ann Spenser, a fellow compatriot of Cora's, developed quite a fondness for Rosamund in more recent years. Brought on by the untimely death of Lord Spenser and her relocation to London, the pair of them often took tea or walks along the shopping district to pass the time that couldn't be occupied by their remaining family. She was a charming young woman who could draw someone in with her dazzling hazel eyes and smooth, mellow tones. She had a gift for making people feel young, and that life still held many possibilities apart from the usual drudgery. Her forward thinking was a bit progressive for Rosamund's taste, but she respected the woman's passion. A passion she, herself, longed to feel again.

Rosamund readies for the outing, eagerly awaiting an afternoon full of feminine discourse. It's precisely what she needs to steal her mind away from recent events. However, as she steps into the opulent dining area she's immediately presented with an apologetic note, which soon makes it apparent the distraction she desires isn't meant to be.

Folding the slip of paper back into fourths, she places it in her handbag, and then resolves to slink off to Painswick Manor for a solitary afternoon. But before she can turn on her heel and make a dignified exit, she stops when a booming voice calls her name above all the buzzing chatter.

"Rosamund!"

She tenses and whirls around, her eyes scanning the closely situated tables for the owner of such a commanding tone. Then Rosamund spots her, ginger waves peeking out from underneath her wide brimmed hat that's adorned with a variety of white and orange flowers. And the flowing sleeve of her tangerine dress billows to and fro like a flag in the wind as Mrs. Martha Levinson waves a hand overhead to draw Rosamund towards the Levinson table.

It's then Rosamund realizes Martha isn't alone. His back might be turned to the front of the room, but she recognizes his balding head and broad back all the same. Her stomach flutters at the notion she simply can't ignore either one of them without being rude. So she does her best to display a polite smile, and return a small wave of her hand in the hopes Martha will stop attracting the attention of the other guests.

Rosamund takes in a deep breath and carefully weaves in between several tables to join theirs, which is pressed up against the far wall, but ironically has three chairs. She stands in between the vacant chair and Martha, leaning forward to partially embrace the seated woman. "Mrs. Levinson, how good to see you again," Rosamund remarks pleasantly.

"It's good to see you as well, my dear," Martha tells her amicably.

Slowly turning to lift her gaze in his direction, Rosamund can hear her heartbeat through her ears. She keeps the smile affixed across her lips, willing her cheeks not to turn red when he stands swiftly in her presence and regards her hesitantly. Extending her hand in a graceful manner, she inclines her head, "Mr. Levinson," she greets him in the most polite tone she can muster.

His hand tightens around her slender fingers and he deliberately holds her gaze for several seconds before muttering, "Lady Painswick...I mean...Lady Rosamund..." He corrects himself with a shake of his head before adding, "always a pleasure."

She bites on the inside of her lip to stifle her amusement at his nervous stutter. Their hands slowly fall apart when Martha pipes up again.

"You'll have to forgive my son, Lady Rosamund. He's not as familiar with all the titles and royalties you all place before yourselves."

Rosamund resists the urge to roll her eyes at this, and instead beams over at Harold Levinson, who appears disgruntled by his mother's criticism. "He need not seek my forgiveness, Mrs. Levinson." His face softens at her words, sending her insides into a fluttering frenzy. Turning her face back to Martha she adds, "I'm sure it can be a bit confusing to any foreigner."

Martha tilts her head to the side and shrugs while digesting Rosamund's words. But it isn't long before she opening her mouth to vocalize her opinions on another matter entirely. "I'm surprised to see you here, Lady Rosamund. I thought your lot normally stayed holed up in your lavish sitting rooms for afternoon tea. At least, that's the impression Cora gives."

This did hold some truth for her brother. He didn't see a point to mingling with others outside of his family for afternoon tea at the Ritz. Cora was a bit more open minded. Still, she didn't feel comfortable discussing her family with the Levinsons.

So she settled for the simplistic explanation. "Well I was to meet a friend here this afternoon, but she had to cancel on me at the last minute. I was actually just on my way out." She jerks her thumb in the direction of the entrance, hoping Mrs. Levinson might pick up on her urgency.

"Oh what a pity," She frowns slightly until her face alights with an idea, "You should join us."

"Oh I...wouldn't want to be an imposition," She holds up a hand, thinking she's politely and successfully declined the invitation.

"Nonsense!" Martha insists, "You shouldn't have to take tea all alone in that large house of yours. Especially if you've gotten all dressed to come out."

"Well I..." Rosamund glances over at Harold tentatively who shoots her a sympathetic half smile.

"Harold, chair." Martha snaps her finger and gestures for him to pull out their third chair for their coerced guest.

She slowly sinks down onto the cushion, and a chill runs down her spine when he leans in close enough for her to catch a bit of his musky scent.

"I'm sorry it appears you have no choice," Harold mutters quietly into her ear, which only increases her body's reaction as he pushes her seat closer to the table.

"Thank you," Rosamund remarks evenly. Her lips draw into a thin line, but when she catches that boyish grin splayed across his visage, the corners of her mouth turn up involuntarily.

Martha doesn't appear to notice as she continues prattling on about whether or not they should add Switzerland to their traveling schedule.

Spreading the serviette across her lap, Rosamund braces herself for an hour of conversational topics she'd hoped to avoid.


After two cups of tea his mother excuses herself and heads to the ladies room, leaving both Rosamund and him in a most uncomfortable silence. He stares at her downcast profile, as she carefully places her cup back on its saucer. He waits for her to turn her face up towards him again and effortlessly say something that sends him into another awkward blunder like before. But when this doesn't happen he takes it upon himself to ease the deafening quiet between them.

"I hope we didn't commandeer too much of your afternoon."

"No, not at all," She tells him rather abruptly.

The conversation stalls again, but Harold's determined to understand what transpired between them the other night. He leans forward in his chair, lowering his voice so only she can hear. "I am glad you made it home safely the other night."

This grabs her full attention. She arches a manicured brow in his direction, blinking back with a certain perplexity crossing her emerald eyes. It's almost like she's silently inquiring, Why? Why would it matter?

Her questioning look forces him to explain, "Only I would have felt responsible if you didn't." He pauses, lowering his gaze to the table, running his fingers along the top of his silverware. He then dares to add, "Just as I feel responsible for my impetuous actions the other night." He peers up at her probing gaze, noticing the surprise at his forwardness flicker across her expression.

Clearing her throat she insists plainly, "You need not feel any ounce of responsibility when it comes to me, Mr. Levinson."

Harold opens his mouth to object, but she cuts him off. "In fact, you need not feel anything when it comes to me. I'm merely a relation of your sister's through marriage." She looks away once more, plucking a sandwich from the center platter and placing it on her plate.

"That's not how I see you," He admits softly.

"Perhaps it's how you should see me," Rosamund replies sharply, her eyes flashing icily at him.

He jumps slightly at the severity in her tone. A sharpness he didn't anticipate, even with the impression that she was the one who pulled away from his embrace the other evening. "Right," He inclines his head, a bit put out by this bitter realization. "Well...if that's how it's ought to be...I'm sorry for kissing you the other night, Lady Rosamund."

There's enough of a pause for him to receive satisfaction in her slightly shocked expression. A devious smirk spreads at his lips, knowing his forwardness makes her uneasy. It's petty, all things considered, but for a second he doesn't care. Until her cheeks flush red, and she turns away from him altogether. Then a certain guilt overcomes him, despite his efforts to remain just as harsh in response to her own reaction.

"It..." Harold begins without the jaded edge in his voice, " ...it wasn't my intent to upset you, or make you feel uncomfortable in anyway. So I apologize if I made you feel either way." His hand slowly inches across the tablecloth, his fingertips lightly brushing along the side of her soft hand.

This gesture must coax her out of her guarded shell because she casts her lowered gaze back in his direction. Through heavy lids she inquires quietly, "What...what was your intent, Mr. Levinson?"

"I'm afraid if I tell you, I'll be accused as seeing you as more than just a relation of my sister's," He tells her honestly.

She nearly scoffs at the sarcastic humor he intends to inflict, "I'll say it again. You are very charming."

Her words make him grin broadly. A compliment he never expected, but wholeheartedly welcomes. He lifts his hand as if to grasp hers, but she moves it back to her lap and out of his reach.

"But I don't have time for charming men, Mr. Levinson." She states matter-of-factly, "The last time I made an exception for one, I wasted nearly a year of my life, and the little love I had left in my heart. I can't..." Her voice falters a bit when looks up at him again. But all it takes is a shake of her head before Rosamund finds the strength in her voice, "...nothing more can happen between us."

"What a pity," He remarks with slight disappointment, bringing his hand back to the fine china of his teacup.

"I will not have you feel sorry for me."

"I don't," He declares firmly to assuage her concerns. "It's just..." He contemplates telling her, but then exhales and sits back in his chair, "...well nevermind."

"What?" Rosamund frowns at his indecisive reasoning, although he's not entirely sure why.

"You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you," He remarks stiffly, stirring more milk in his tea. "You'll just say I'm trying to charm you again."

"Well prove me wrong then," She insists, pinching the sleeve of his jacket between her fingers.

His gaze flickers between the hand on his arm and her bright eyes, brimming with sincere interest. Harold relents with a slight sigh, unable to refuse her for some odd reason. "I would never make you feel that way, if you changed your mind about me."

Rosamund releases her grip on him and asks warily, "How can I be so sure?"

"Because you aren't the only one who's wasted time as well as their heart on people who really didn't deserve it." He counters with a sad smile. Shrugging, Harold confesses solemnly, "I know how...devastating it can be to discover someone only wants you for what you have as opposed to who you are."

She stares at him thoughtfully for several moments, as if this sudden revelation might have stirred a change within her.

Still, he makes it a point for them to remain equals, whatever the outcome of their impulsive kiss the other night. "Anyway," He takes a final sip of his tea before placing it back on the saucer, "you need not feel pity for me, Lady Rosamund. I just never dreamed we'd have anything in common."

"Neither did I," She replies with a warmth in her tone that gives away the soft smile curling at her lips. "And I will not pity you, Mr. Levinson. But I do pity Cora."

He blinks back at her, clearly confused by the sudden mention of his sister.

Rosamund explains swiftly, "I heard she's invited Mary's suitors for dinner this evening. So many bodies to cram in the dining room at Grantham House. It'll be a miracle if all of you can fit in a single room." She takes a bite of her sandwich, chews slowly, and then suggests with a wry smile, "Perhaps you'd like to join me at Painswick Manor for supper, instead?"

Furrowing his brow, Harold reminds her. "Wouldn't that venture into territory you've already banished me from, Lady Rosamund?"

"Well Edith will be there as well." She shrugs, not thinking much of his slight objection, "She's...not particularly keen on all the attention circulating Mary. It could be a good opportunity for you to get to know your other niece."

It all feels like an excuse to see him again. However, he just can't help himself. He knows he isn't much to look at, but in this moment, Lady Rosamund Painswick is looking at him. And even if her intentions aren't altogether clear (they can figure all of the details out later), he finds himself responding with a pleased half smile, "Well I'm not particularly fond of crowded dining rooms, anyway."


Also, I wanted to comment on the pacing of this story. I realize that the timeframe seems kind of slow, but I wanted to make it follow (somewhat) with the short span of time the Levinsons spent in London during the Christmas Special. However, this chapter sets up the next one in terms of some serious Haramond progression, so hang in there guys! :)