Several days passed, and Robert's thoughts kept coming back to that shadowy nook in the garden and what happened there. He'd met Cora – at the park usually – on most of these days. But of course they'd not had a chance to be completely alone together again. He most certainly looked forward to when they could. In the meantime, he enjoyed all the other things Cora's company had to offer.
On this particular morning – a day or two before the next ball – about an hour before luncheon, Robert sat in the library and stared blindly at a book. He couldn't concentrate on the words in front of him. He kept feeling Cora's lips on his own and smelling the sweet fragrance of her skin. He closed his eyes, his mouth curved in a smile.
"Robert!" His papa rushed into the library, interrupting his pleasant daydream.
Robert opened his eyes. "Papa?" His father appeared distressed, and he made for the drinks cabinet immediately upon entering the room. "Is something wrong?"
Patrick poured his drink, then his eyes darted toward the open door. "Wait," he said. He crossed over to the door, glass in hand, and closed it. Sitting across from his son, he took a long drink before fixing him with a grave expression. "I just returned from the solicitor's office."
Putting his book beside him on the settee, he prompted, "Yes?" as his father had another large gulp of Scotch.
Leaning closer to Robert, he said in a low voice, "Downton is in more trouble than we thought."
"What does that mean, sir?" Robert's eyes widened.
Patrick finished his drink in record time and stood up to pour another. He spoke to Robert while his back was still turned. "It means, Robert, that none of the English women we'd had in mind for you will suffice." He faced his son again, but remained standing by the cabinet. "Their dowries might keep Downton from ruin for a few years, but would not be enough to fully restore the estate." He sighed deeply, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
Robert leaned back, taking this in. He blinked a few times, then ventured to ask, "And Miss Levinson?" He held his breath.
Moving his hand from his nose, Patrick rubbed his forehead and took another drink. Then he looked at Robert steadily. "She could save us, Robert."
Struggling to keep it inaudible to his father, Robert exhaled in relief. But still, he worried. "What about Mama? She's set against Miss Levinson."
His father shook his head and put down his glass. "Your mama doesn't know the extent of it. She didn't even before today." Patrick shoved his fingers into his waistcoat pocket. The expression on his face seemed a mix of understanding and hope. He approached his son, drawing something from the pocket and closing his fingers around it. "Robert," he said, his voice quiet, "I know I've seemed unfeeling in placing such a burden upon you, making you select a bride from such a small list. And I realize how difficult it's been for you to accept it. But I can tell you prefer Miss Levinson over any of the others, and that, perhaps, you're growing fond of her."
Robert simply listened, nodding. Patrick opened his hand, holding a small object out to his son. His eyes growing wide, Robert breathed, "Papa…."
"It was your great-grandmother's, and I've been saving it for you to give to your future bride." Patrick looked on as Robert carefully picked up the ring and examined it. "Robert, I can't have you let this opportunity slip by. Now you would truly be marrying her for her money. And I know you don't like that, because you're an honorable young man. I wish it didn't have to be this way. But knowing that you fancy her anyway puts my mind partly at ease." He waited for Robert to raise his head. "Court her, Robert. Never mind your Mama. That will be my worry. When you think it's time…." He inclined his head toward the ring. "You'll be ready."
Taking a deep breath, Robert stood in front of his father. "Thank you, Papa. Just… I think she's the right choice anyway. I can see her being Countess of Grantham one day." Tucking the ring carefully into his own waistcoat pocket, he bent down to collect his book.
"Then it will be for the best, son."
Patrick told Robert that he would wait until after dinner to tell his mother. Apprehensive about what she would say, Robert did not look forward to the altercation that was sure to transpire that evening, even if he would not be present for it. It gave him no pleasure to go against his mother's wishes, but he knew, deep in his gut, that this time snobbery and obstinacy had clouded her judgment.
At luncheon Rosamund asked permission to bring a friend of hers to tea. "She and are going for a walk together just before, and I thought it would be nice to bring her back here. Is it alright, Mama?"
Violet waved her hand dismissively. "I'm sure I don't mind, Rosamund. No one seems to pay any attention to what I would like anyway." She gave Robert a pointed glance, causing him to sigh and look down, thinking of the ring still nestled safely in his pocket.
Later, Patrick, Violet, and Robert assembled in the drawing room for tea, waiting for Rosamund and her guest. Robert sat nearest the open door, and, not long after Violet had grumbled about her daughter always being late to tea, he heard loud whispers coming from the hallway.
"Please, don't be silly; you'll do just fine," came his sister's voice.
"But, Lady Rosamund, what will they think? I don't even have my companion. How does this look for a first introduction? I thought we were going to Lady Margaret's!"
Robert caught his breath sharply. It sounded like – but, surely, Rosamund wouldn't….
Yet, she had. Patrick and Robert stood as Rosamund swept into the room arm in arm with her "friend." Cora appeared somewhat mortified to have found herself tricked into tea with Robert and his parents. Her eyes went straight to Robert, and she shook her head slightly, as if to tell him that it wasn't her idea.
Giving her a small smile, Robert endeavored to convey to her that it was alright.
"Allow me to introduce my new friend, Miss Cora Levinson," Rosamund sang out, grinning.
Patrick's face transformed from concern at the young woman's pallor to utter pleasure, and he stepped forward.
"Miss Levinson, this is my father, Lord Grantham." Rosamund ushered Cora farther into the room.
Taking her hand and clasping it warmly, Patrick said, "Welcome to our home, Miss Levinson. It's a delight to finally meet you. We've heard such nice things about you."
Robert watched as Cora blushed and accepted his papa's greeting with her own sweet affability. She seemed somewhat relieved, and Robert would have relaxed – were it not for his mother's expression. Violet looked daggers at Rosamund and then at Patrick.
His papa turned and indicated Robert's mother to Cora. "And may I introduce you to my wife, Lady Grantham."
"It's a pleasure, Lady Grantham," Cora said, smiling and offering her hand in greeting.
Violet fixed her with a cold stare and remained motionless. Cora's smile wavered, and she lowered her hand slowly.
"Er, let's get you settled with a nice cup of tea, shall we, Miss Levinson?" Patrick beckoned to her and indicated a place next to Rosamund, who'd already seated herself on the settee. "I think you already know our son, Lord Downton." He chuckled lightly, appearing to disregard the glare his wife gave him.
Cora blushed once more, glancing at Robert, who smiled. "Yes, Lord Downton and I are acquainted."
Rosamund's eyes moved to her mother, who should have been pouring out for the two young ladies. "Mama, we're thirsty after our walk," she said pointedly, while also affecting a light-hearted manner for the sake of their guest.
Violet turned her glower from her husband to her daughter. "I didn't think Americans drank tea," she stated, her voice icy.
Rolling her eyes, Rosamund said, "Of course they do, Mama. But if you're too tired to pour two more cups of tea, I'll do it." She turned to Cora, putting a hand on her arm. Robert could see even from where he sat that Cora trembled. "Milk or lemon, dear?"
Cora looked at Rosamund gratefully. "A little lemon, please, Lady Rosamund." Her eyes went to Robert as his sister got up to get their tea. He gave her an encouraging smile. Her lips curved slightly upward in return.
"Now, Miss Levinson, tell me…." Patrick ignored his wife and engaged Cora in conversation, Rosamund and Robert joining in at times.
Robert observed Cora as she visibly relaxed. The only thing which appeared to give her pause were the intermittent loud snorts and harrumphs coming from his mother. Cora would flick her eyes briefly to Violet, then nervously resume what she'd been saying.
Finally, Violet interrupted her husband. "Levinson – isn't that a Jewish name?"
Patrick and Robert's heads snapped toward Violet, gaping at her. Rosamund coolly sipped her second cup of tea, shaking her head.
"Yes, Lady Grantham," Cora said, her voice calmer than Robert expected. His mother pursed her lips, and he knew she was about to let out a haughty "humph," but Cora went on before she could. "My father's ancestors were Jewish. But our family has been Episcopalian for generations." She turned to Patrick now, her tone as composed as if Violet weren't glowering at her through narrowed eyes. "As I understand, Episcopalians are direct descendants of Anglicans, so there are many similarities in the teachings and the service."
Tilting his head in thought, Patrick slowly nodded and smiled at her. "I do believe you are correct, Miss Levinson. They are not so dissimilar at all."
Robert watched his mother shoot a glare at her husband before she spoke once more. "Similar or not, they are not the same." Cora looked at Violet, her smile faltering at the severe expression upon her face. "And you, young lady, are not of the same stock we are, as much as you would like to make yourself out to be."
Opening his mouth in shock and indignation, Robert had no time to do anything else before Cora put her cup and saucer down on the table next to her and rose gracefully from her place on the settee. Her countenance reflected a sort of quiet serenity – but Robert could see the flash of her blue eyes as well. "Lord Grantham, Lord Downton, Lady Rosamund," she said, nodding at each of the standing gentlemen and the seated lady in turn, "it's been a pleasure to spend an afternoon with you, but I fear I've overstayed my welcome. Lady Grantham," she addressed his mother smoothly, "I may not be of the same stock, and I may be an American, but I am not a nobody from nowhere. However, my lady, if you are so offended by my mere presence, rest assured that you won't ever have to suffer it again. Good afternoon."
She swept out of the room, her lavender flounces trailing behind her, before anyone could say a word.
"Mama!" Robert hissed, "how could you?" – just as Patrick bellowed, "Violet, that was exceptionally rude, even for you!" Rosamund neatly slipped from the settee and out the door.
"I couldn't sit here and let that interloper think she had any chance with Robert." Now that Miss Levinson had departed, she poured herself another cup of tea.
Patrick shared a glance with his son. Robert nodded, knowing he had to go find Cora. Her final sentence rang in his ears, filling him with trepidation. "I do hope you haven't ruined everything, Mama," Robert said roughly and turned on his heel before she could reply.
Rosamund stood at the entrance to the foyer, her face toward the door. The butler had just shut it. Robert's hand closed around his sister's upper arm, and he knew his face was very red now. "Rosamund, what did you think you were doing, bringing her here? And you didn't even tell her, give her time to prepare? You might as well have thrown her into a lion's den!"
"Robert, you exaggerate. And you're pinching my arm." She grimaced. After he loosened his grip, she went on. "It wasn't that bad until the end."
"Not bad? I had thought we would bring Mama around, but now she never will!"
Rosamund shrugged. "I don't know. I'd think that the way Miss Levinson defended herself at the end would show Mama that she was made of sterner stuff than she appeared to be."
"Be that as it may, the way Miss Levinson left things does not bode well, Rosamund. And I have you to thank for it," he blustered.
"Well, you can probably still catch her. I tried to stop her, but she muttered something about going to the park, needing to think," Rosamund pulled her arm out of Robert's slackened grasp.
"Hyde Park?" he asked.
She shrugged again. "I would imagine so. It wouldn't hurt to try there."
Robert gave her another irritated glance and stepped into the foyer to put on his hat.
"I – Robert, I am sorry, if things don't turn out. I didn't mean any harm. I thought it would help – if they met her, if Mama met her. To see what we see." Rosamund's voice carried a sort of contrition Robert had never heard before.
Tugging on his gloves, Robert spared a look for her before saying, "If I can undo this mess you've made, Rosamund, I might forgive you." With that, he hastened out the door the butler held open for him.
Robert had almost given up when he finally found Cora. His stomach gave a lurch as he saw her hands covering her eyes, and, nearing where she sat, heard her crying. She was so distraught that she didn't notice when Robert sat next to her. When he put a hand on her arm, it startled her.
Taking her hands from her eyes, she attempted to wipe her tears with the back of her glove. "It's no use, is it?" she whispered, shaking her head.
"Please, don't cry, Cora." He withdrew a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.
Accepting it, she dabbed at her face. "She hates me. Your mother hates me."
"Cora, she doesn't hate you; she doesn't know you." Robert wanted so much to comfort her somehow.
Fixing him with an incredulous look, Cora asked, "Were you not in that same room with me? She doesn't want to know me. I am beneath knowing, much less allowing her son to court." Fresh tears left glistening trails over her cheeks.
Robert took the handkerchief from her and gently applied it to her face. "I know you're upset. But, please, stop crying." He thought his heart might break at her distress. "Where is Miss MacIntyre?" he inquired. "She should be with you in the park. The way it would look for –"
"I don't care," she interrupted. "What does it matter anymore? There's no one I need to impress here any longer." She looked down and inhaled deeply. "Robert, my mother has been talking to me, and she thinks we should go home. So I –" she raised her eyes to his – "I think I'll go back home with Mother. And it's better that I go sooner, rather than later. I can't… it's too difficult when… I just need to go home. Today has taught me that." She bowed her head again.
As he listened to her, Robert's chest constricted. He remembered her words from their first garden stroll, how she said she wouldn't stay for just anyone, only someone for whom she could see herself giving up her entire world. Swallowing hard, he asked, "And if I asked you to stay?"
Cora shook her head. "After what I said to your mother, I can't see her giving her permission, Robert. And I won't come between you." She lifted her head to fix sad eyes on his. "I don't belong here. I don't know the first thing about what it would mean to be an earl's wife. They don't like me – none of them like me. Your mother's right, Robert. I'm not of the same stock."
"Don't say that, Cora. And there are people who like you. Lord Henry and Lady Margaret, my sister – and I can tell already that my father is quite taken with you." He smiled at her. "My mother doesn't understand… well, she doesn't understand a good many things right now. And she wasn't the only one in that drawing room." Tucking his handkerchief back in his pocket, as she'd stopped crying, he touched her cheek. "Cora, don't let my mother frighten you away. Please, stay. Stay for me."
For a full moment she searched his eyes, holding his with hers. Her entire visage reflected the conflict he knew must be going on inside her. Then he moved his fingers across her cheek. Cora leaned her head into his hand and closed her eyes with a soft sigh. And he knew in that moment that if he let her go, he'd never be able to forgive himself.
Robert plucked his great-grandmother's ring out of his waistcoat pocket and held it enclosed in his hand. "Cora," he whispered. She opened her eyes and focused them upon his. "I don't care what my mother thinks. You are the only woman I can see marrying, with whom I can see sharing the life that has already been plotted out for me. I can't give you the world, and I can't promise you much excitement, but I want to give you whatever I can so that you may have a good and happy life." Then he shrugged and sighed. "You know I'm a fortune-hunter – as much as I hate that word, it's the appropriate one. I will, unfortunately, be marrying you for your money. But, oh, sweet Cora, there are so many other reasons." He opened his hand. "If you can see giving up your life in America – to share mine here – I would like very much for you to stay."
Cora had listened raptly while he said these words, and now her eyes rested on the ring. She covered her mouth and blinked at it, then raised her eyes to his face. He gazed at her with both expectation and fear – an uncontrollable fear that reached cold tentacles through his veins, the fear that she would reject his offer and leave him forever.
She took a deep breath and stared at the ring again. She appeared shocked and still torn. Robert removed his hand from her cheek and, securing the ring between his thumb and forefinger, he used his other fingers to slip the glove off his right hand. Her eyes followed his movements as he put the ring in his bare palm. "This ring was my great-grandmother's. Papa gave it to me to give to you. To you, Cora. He approves of us. And I don't like disappointing my mama, but I won't let her come between us. If I had all the money in the world, I would still choose you."
Robert had to close his fist quickly over the ring to keep from dropping it, so impulsive was Cora's lunge forward to wrap her arms around his neck. Gasping in surprise, he froze for a few seconds before sliding his arms around her and resting his cheek on her hair.
"Cora?" he asked softly. "Is that a 'yes'?"
His eyes widened when she pulled her head away, only to press her lips to his, completely unmindful of the people strolling between their seat and the Boy and Dolphin fountain in front of them. Within a few seconds, her timid kisses persuaded him to be unmindful too. So he closed his eyes and let her show him her answer to his question. He would admit that this was one reason he wanted her by his side – she helped him forget the confines of his title and his duties, even if only for a little while.
Cora drew back from him after only moment or two, her face radiant. She glanced at passersby, some of whom had the impertinence to stare at them, and blushed furiously, hastily unwrapping her arms from around his neck, and pulling herself out of his embrace. But still she smiled. "I'm sorry. I got carried away," she said sheepishly.
"Never mind that," he insisted with a grin. He indicated her hand. "May I?"
She nodded. "Yes." She added, "Yes to that, and yes to you." She continued to blush.
Smiling happily, Robert took her left hand, and gently slid the glove off, finger by finger. Placing this in his lap, he slipped the ring over her delicate knuckles. Then he clasped her hand, raised it to brush his lips against the back of it, and, for the first time, held her bare hand in his. He ran his thumb over it, loving the feel of her soft skin.
She beamed at him, and he would have loved to kiss her again, but felt that too many people had already witnessed their impropriety already. That would have to wait until later. For the moment, he was content to sit and talk with her and hold her hand in his – the hand he would get to hold the rest of his life.
Rosamund jumped up from her seat in the foyer when Robert entered the house about an hour later, humming and grinning from ear to ear.
"Have you been sitting there the whole time?" Robert handed his gloves and hat to the butler and took his sister's arm.
"Yes! I was worried." She walked with him down the hallway. "I had nearly decided to go looking for you, brother."
Robert chuckled. "Ah, no need for that, Rosamund." He looked over at her and kissed her cheek impetuously. "What would you say to our going out to a restaurant tonight to celebrate?"
Rosamund raised her eyebrows. "Celebrate?" She gave him a hopeful glance. "Does this mean that –?"
Stopping them, Robert turned to her, still smiling. "It means that you're forgiven and that, if you say you will come with me to dinner, I'll tell you everything then."
His sister grinned. "Oh, Robert. I'm so glad. I did feel most dreadful about –"
He interrupted her again with a shake of his head. "It's done, and all is well. Now. Do you know where Mama and Papa are?"
"Papa went into the library an age ago, and Mama hasn't come out of the drawing room."
Kissing her soundly on the cheek once more, he nodded toward the stairs. "Alright. I realize the dressing gong hasn't sounded yet, but go on upstairs and get ready. I know how much longer you take when we're going out." He winked at her and watched her ascend.
After a quick word with the butler to let him know that he and his sister would be gone for dinner, Robert entered the library. His father was ensconced in his chair, staring at a book and sipping Scotch. He didn't read, so much as seethe in silence.
"Papa?" Robert hesitantly stepped farther into the room.
Patrick's head jerked up. "Son?"
"I'd have something to say to you and Mama. Will you come with me into the drawing room? Please, sir?"
"If that's what you wish, son, but I'm not really speaking to your mother right now." He put his book down and got up, moving to the drinks cabinet. "And if you'll wait just a moment whilst I…."
"Of course, Papa." Robert waited while his father freshened his drink, then walked with him to the drawing room.
Violet sat in her same chair, working on her embroidery. She looked up from it when they came in, pursed her lips together, then resumed her stitching, apparently ready to ignore them.
"Mama, I need to tell you and Papa something. Might you please listen?"
Robert waited until his father had seated himself as far as possible from Violet, and his mother stared at him in an exaggerated manner, indicating her attention to him. He remained standing to address them both.
He took a deep breath, then said very clearly, "I've asked Miss Levinson to marry me."
The change this news wrought over Patrick's face was incredible. But as he stood to wring his son's hand, Violet's voice pierced the air, halting him.
"How dare you, Robert!"
Robert wheeled around to face his mother. Her entire countenance had reddened, and her eyes flashed. Indignance exuded from her, and she shook with fury. Robert didn't think he'd ever seen her quite this cross before.
"Violet," Patrick ventured, in a placating voice, "you don't understand."
"What is there to understand, Patrick? Our son has taken leave of his senses, and he's wounded me very deeply by going against my wishes." Her shrillness hurt Robert's ears. "Especially after how that young woman spoke to me this afternoon."
"Mama." Try as he might, Robert couldn't keep the exasperation from his voice. "She spoke that way because you attacked her. What else was she supposed to do? Let you?" Before his mother could answer, he went on. "Besides, I would say that indicates a backbone that the Viscountess of Downton would need." He knew he risked setting her off completely, but he found he didn't care anymore.
Violet gaped at Robert. He rarely ever talked to her in such a way.
Patrick attempted to explain it again. "He has to marry her, Violet. There's no other option."
She turned her flushed face to her husband. "What do you mean?"
Sharing a glance with his son, he endeavored to enlighten her. "Downton is in worse trouble than I ever imagined. I spoke with our solicitor today, and none of the other candidates have near enough to save the estate. Miss Levinson is the only one who can."
Violet narrowed her eyes and shook her head vehemently. "No. No. I won't have it, Patrick. Robert will simply have to look for another bride next Season among the English ladies coming out then."
"We can't wait that long, Violet," he replied, his voice rising slightly with his irritation.
"Of course we can, Patrick. How much difference could a year make?" She sounded incredulous.
"Violet, it makes all the difference. And what if no other suitable young lady appears next Season? We'll have lost our best opportunity." Robert could hear his father's normally even temper cracking.
"No, I won't accept that. Miss Levinson doesn't belong with us." She gripped the arms of her chair, glaring at her husband.
Patrick threw up his hands. "I give up. Your stubbornness has reached a new height, Violet. I'll be 'dining' in the library tonight." He went over and picked up his Scotch glass, taking a swig, then came back to Robert. "She said yes?"
Robert nodded.
"Good. Er, congratulations, son." Wringing his hand, Patrick sent his wife one last scathing glance before exiting the drawing room.
"Well, I never!" Violet exclaimed.
"Mama," Robert said softly, "it will be easier if you simply start seeing things as they are. I have to marry Miss Levinson. Downton needs the money she would bring to the marriage." He knew she wouldn't care about any of his other reasons, not as set against Cora as she was. He thought that perhaps she did want him to be happy – in her own way – but only on her terms.
Violet shook her head again. "No. There has to be another way. If you marry her, she'll bring shame and ridicule upon the Crawley name, and I won't have that, Robert. I won't."
Robert sighed heavily. "Mama, I've asked her to marry me, and she said yes. I honestly don't see how she would sully us, as she's a fine young woman – which you would see if you deigned to give her half a chance." He sat on the chair next to hers and looked her in the eye. "Papa gave us his consent and his blessing. I had hoped that I would have your blessing as well, but, since I don't think I'll get it, I'll settle for your acceptance. Because, whether you wish it or not, I will marry Miss Levinson. Her money is necessary for the estate to continue."
He got up, leaving her staring at him incredulously. At the doorway, he turned. "I hope you will enjoy dinner on your own. I've already informed the butler that Rosamund and I are going out. Goodnight, Mama."
Violet's knuckles had turned white from her grip on the arms of her chair. "You're set on ruining us – our family, Downton – aren't you?"
Her accusation struck a blow straight to his heart. Robert closed his eyes briefly, weighing his words. He knew he could easily lash out at her, but it would solve nothing; it would merely make her defensive. He kept his voice even, as he looked at her solemnly and said, "No. Because I don't think you fully understand, Mama. If I don't marry Miss Levinson, there will be nothing else to ruin. Our family name will be all we have left. And if Downton crumbles, the Crawley name won't be worth very much anyway, will it? If you care at all about our family, you'll try to accept this." He shook his head. "I'm not sure if I can put it any clearer than that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I promised Rosamund I would tell her about my proposal over dinner. At least she sees what I see in Miss Levinson."
And with a last "goodnight," Robert left, not waiting for an answer.