The New Yorkers have got Aladdin's lamp, and build palaces in a night. The city is gay, entertaining, full of costly things - but its lavish spending does not result in magnificence, it is showy rather than fine...expensive rather than beautiful. Architecture is not practiced as a fine art, it is known here only as a name for the building trade.

- Charles E. Norton


Noise.

That was his first impression of New York - a Babel of languages distorted into a distinctive dialect, the scrape and thud of luggage and the familiar snorts and clip-clop of horses - all working together to create a bustling hive of activity.

One which did not stop for a young viscount. His luggage, his valet and his person were swiftly swept off the boat towards a waiting carriage and - Robert presumed - a waiting driver.

"Mister Crawley?"

Robert looked towards the man, noting the leisurely manner and slow smile. He scowled.

"Actually, it's Lord Downton."

"Not to me." The man derisively looked him up and down before offering his hand. "Isidore Levinson."

His American venture had not started well. It was about to get worse.


"So - Downton Abbey." Mr Levinson enunciated the words carefully, as if he had just discovered a new animal species. "Two thousand arable acres - mostly corn."

Robert nodded in confirmation.

"Of course you have no chance of competing with the American Corn Belt. Why not diversify?"

Why not diversify? He tried to recall meetings with his father and their steward, before quickly realising he had no credible answer. "I don't have much to do with the business aspects."

"So what doyou do?"

"I..." The question took him by surprise. In England, no one would ask Lord Downton what he did - his aristocratic status itself would suffice. "I look after the stables and um..." he searched for something acceptable "...study."

He waited for a skeptical rejoinder; none came. The only sound in the carriage was the slow, rhythmic drumming of the other man's fingers on the seat. Finally-

"Do you see that opera house?" Robert looked out to where the man pointed, seeing only a classical Greek temple incongruously set back from the road and bordered by deciduous trees. "I built it. I've invested in downtown New York, including the Levinson Building, which..." There followed a long list investments and buildings; Robert was relieved when the carriage began slowing down.

"...but real estate doesn't mean anything to my wife and daughter. They want the prestige of a British title." As the carriage stopped, Mr Levinson turned to him, contempt evident in his expression:

"Cora requested your visit. That's why you are here." He paused to ensure Robert understood. "The only reason you're here"

The man stepped down from the carriage sharply, leaving Robert to hurry behind him.

And there she was - the reason he was here, standing outside the house, waiting for him with a shy smile.

"Welcome to America."


A/N: I'm sorry - really not very good at updating promptly and I seem to have lost my creative writing muse! I've put a lot of thought into Cora's father and 19th century New York but please let me know if I've got something wrong.