November 4, 1888

Cora,

I have just opened the package that Rosamund delivered from you in honor of my birthday. Thank you for thinking of me, even though you are far away. The portrait is very beautiful. I have known since we first met that you are very beautiful indeed, and now with this portrait, I am reminded of that beauty outside of my mere memories of you.

My birthday has been very fine. I went riding with my father to view some of the cottages, and Mama has planned a special dinner for my birthday tonight. Rosamund and Marmaduke are here to celebrate, which is kind of them. Tomorrow, Marmaduke and Papa and I are going shooting with Dickie. His father is very ill, so will not be joining us. I daresay Dickie will become Lord Merton either just before or just after he is married.

Carson has just rung the dressing gong—he is officially our butler now, Stephens having retired at the end of October—and Willis will be in shortly, so I must close this letter.

Thank you for the birthday gift. I promise I did not hate it.

Best wishes,

Robert

November 20, 1888

After weeks and weeks of worry, Cora finally received a letter from Robert to tell her of his reaction to the portrait she'd had taken in London to give him for his birthday. The more she thought about it, the more horrified she was at what she had done. Her shoulders were bare! How she'd allowed Rosamund to talk her into it, she would never know. All Cora had done was sit there and let her future sister-in-law unbutton her dress and push the sleeves off her and cover her in a shall and hand her a rose and take down some tendrils of her hair. The photographer and told her to look at the camera and freeze, and a few minutes later, Rosamund put Cora back together and it was over. They'd gone back the next day, Rosamund taking Cora in her coach, and gotten the finished portrait. Cora had to admit she looked quite beautiful, but it was so strange to see herself in that way. She'd written a letter to Robert there at the studio and put it with the paper frame of the photograph and wrapped it all in a large envelope for Rosamund to give to Robert on his birthday. And two hours later, Cora and her mother left London to return to New York.

Now, months later, Robert had received that gift. His letter thanking her was polite and kind like all his letters. She had to admit that she was a little disappointed. She had hoped that if he liked it, he would have more to say than just telling her that it was beautiful and she was beautiful. Well, that was always nice to hear. And he didn't hate it, as she'd feared and written to him in a panic to warn him of the possibility that he might be appalled at what she'd done.

Worst of all, he'd ended the letter with 'best wishes' once again. Though perhaps that was just how the English closed their letters. Cora did not really know. But to think that the country of Keats and Milton and Shakespeare and Byron bred a young viscount who could do no better than 'best wishes' was a disappointment indeed.

With a sigh, Cora put the letter aside for the time being. It would go with the rest of her collection of letters from Robert. There had not been nearly enough in the months since their parting. But they were only two short months away from her return to England, and then there would be far better replacement for letters.

"Cora, would you come into my study, please?"

She looked up from where she was sitting on the sofa to see her father enter the room. "Yes, of course," she answered, getting up quickly to hurry after him.

Isidore Levinson gestured for his daughter to sit in front of his desk as he closed the door behind her. "I think it's high time we had a talk about this engagement of yours," he said gruffly.

Cora started to get quite nervous. She did not think that her father would do anything to jeopardize her engagement to Robert. After all, he was the one who sent her to England with the express purpose of finding someone of the peerage to marry. She had done just that. And Father had met Robert already, when he'd come to dinner when he was in New York back in June. Surely he did not suddenly disapprove of Cora's fiancé? Oh she would just die if he did!

Isidore sat down at his desk and took a deep breath, his mustache twitching slightly as he did. "Cora, your mother has told me that you're quite taken with Robert Crawley."

"I love him," Cora answered unabashedly.

He grumbled slightly at that. "I see. And has he told you why he wants to marry you?"

Her heart sank in her chest. "He asked me to marry me because he wants me to be his wife, for us to have a life together. And he told me in London when he was courting me that his family's estate needed money because his father established a hospital in their town and it had cost much more than anticipated, if I recall."

"So you know that they plan to have you sign your dowry and inheritance over to the Grantham estate?" Father pressed.

Cora frowned. "I don't understand. It's…it's my money, isn't it? I'm entitled to the money upon my marriage, isn't that right?"

"Yes. And Lord Grantham is going to present you with a deed of gift to sign. If you do, your money—my money—will no longer be yours. It will be part of the estate."

"But Robert inherits the estate, and our children will inherit it after. And isn't that's where my money would go anyway?" she asked.

"Well, yes, but—"

Cora stood up, suddenly overcome with a streak of anger. Her father, along with everyone else in her family, it seemed, was questioning her marriage. And it was just more than she could take. "But nothing! I am marrying Robert. I am joining his family. His estate. And my money will save it. Robert loves me, and he—"

"But does he love you, Cora?" Father interjected, standing and raising his voice above hers.

She was startled by that, and not only by his words, which spoke to the deepest worry in her heart at the present time. But her father was not one to shout; that was Mother's domain. But Cora did not let his volume scare her off. She squared her shoulders and replied, "He wants to be a good husband to me. And he will be. And I love him. I am going to be Countess of Grantham one day, and my money will be part of the estate that will be ours. Robert's and mine, together. As far as I'm concerned, that's all that matters. And the very idea that you would—"

"That I would worry for the happiness of my only daughter? Does that really shock you?" he snapped. The anger on his face evaporated, replaced by something akin to aching.

Her eyes went wide. She could not recall her father ever having looked at her like that before. She just gaped at him, unsure how to respond.

Isidore came around from behind his desk to take Cora's hands in his own. His hands were large but thin. The hands of a businessman through and through: a learned man who spent his days writing letters and balancing accounts and signing contracts and such. Not the hands of a man who labored physically or who engaged in sport of any kind. But they were her father's hands, and Cora knew and loved these hands that had loved and guided and protected her all her life. These were the hands that would be giving her away to her husband in just a few short months.

She looked up from her father's hands as they squeezed hers, and she saw the tenderest expression she could have ever imagined from him.

"Shayna Coraleh," he began gently, using the Yiddish term of endearment from when she was very, very small, "if you love this man and believe in your heart that he will be a good husband to you, I won't say a word against him. But I hope that you know what you are doing. Signing your money to them might mean that you give it up. If anything should happen, you may be left with nothing. I will not give up my daughter to a life of unhappiness with no means of escape."

Cora blinked back the tears in her eyes. "I won't need to escape. I know it might be difficult, and I know I have a lot to learn, but this is what I want. I want to live at Downton Abbey and marry Robert. More than anything I've ever wanted in my life, Father, I want him."

He smiled. "Then you shall have him. I'll write back to Lord Grantham with the exact figures and means of transfer so his lawyers can arrange for everything. You know your own heart and mind, and as long as you understand the consequences, I have no objection to your decision."

Overcome by the sheer love of her father that Cora felt in that moment, she leaned in to hug him tight. He held her close and kissed her hair. Cora wondered if this might be one of the last times she would hug her father like this. Perhaps it would be. Perhaps this was another thing she would be giving up in order to marry Robert. The tradeoffs were far more numerous than she'd anticipated. But she knew one thing above all others, something her father had confirmed: she wanted Robert and she would have him.

Author's Note: 'shayna' means 'beautiful' and adding '-leh' at the end of a name is a cute term of endearment in Yiddish (sort of like calling someone named Nick 'Nicky') and I like to think that despite his insistence on assimilation, Isidore might have included some of his heritage with his children when they were small and might have let it slip in tender moments as they grew up.