"Mother, how will I know what to do?"
Martha glances at her daughter, whose eyes fix hers in nervous excitement. Her wishes for her daughters success in marriage have grown more frequent and more alarming over the past months. The poor innocent girl! She smiles and brushes a curl from Cora Bora's forehead, then chuckles to herself as she recalls the derivation of this nickname - a childish whim of the little darling to add rhyme to her short forename, something that has never failed to amuse herself and Isidore.
"A woman's instinct always wins in the end. Remember that, my darling, and you will do well. I have always tried to bring you up as sure of yourself as you can be, and it shall pay off now, Cora Bora."
Cora chuckles at the reference; switching to her mother's side and leaning her head on the thin, ageing shoulder. "Am I sure of myself, Mother?"
"Only you can answer that, my dearest one."
She glances up at her mother and they share a smile. Martha kisses the top of her head, lingering, making the most of this small, precious moment that is only one minute in the midst of a life that constantly races ahead of them.
"Here we are, my lady. Downton Abbey."
