It was a beautiful day in early spring. The snow had all but melted away, and the sun was shining and the air was clean and bright and filled with the scent of the first blooms of the year. A perfect day.

Cora noticed that the weather had put Robert in a fine mood. They liked to take walks together in the mornings after breakfast most days, and he was certainly in good form today. Smiling and laughing easily. She loved him always, but seeing him happy just filled her heart.

But it also tied her stomach in knots. Because today was the day. It had to be. She had been putting it off, despite having begged Mama weeks ago to let her be the one to do it. Cora knew she needed to tell Robert the truth. And she would. It was just that she had been blissful these last few weeks ever since Robert told her he loved her. This revelation was going to change everything for Robert and for the whole family, and Cora had been reluctant to interrupt their happiness.

Now though, she knew she could not wait any longer. She hated to ruin his good mood but it was best to have him already receptive to tell him, she thought.

Well, this was as good a time as any.

"Robert, after our walk, would you mind accompanying me to my room?" she asked as they began to head back towards the house.

"Oh I think that would be lovely," Robert answered with a little smirk.

She knew exactly what he was insinuating, and he would be sorely disappointed. Actually, Cora suddenly worried that he would not want to be anywhere near her for quite some time after she told him the truth. What man—particularly a good, traditional, proud man like Robert—would want to have an assassin for his wife?

Robert removed his coat and made himself comfortable in an armchair by the fireplace as Cora called for her maid to help with her hat and coat. Robert sat there, watching, amused. Cora could not help herself from sneaking glances at him and reveling in that look on his face. He loved her, and it was plain to see. She only hoped that he'd continue looking at her that way after she told him.

The moment had arrived. The maid left them alone, and Cora sat herself on the settee. Robert moved to join her but she stopped him. "I need to tell you something," she said.

He sat back down. "I see. What is it you need to tell me?"

Cora swallowed hard. "The truth. The truth of how I came to London and how we met and what I do."

Robert frowned. "What do you mean?"

She held her hands in her lap in the way Mama had drilled into her in order to keep from fidgeting nervously. "You see, my father is not just a businessman in New York. Well, he is, but that's not all of it. He is involved with criminal enterprise. Highly profitable but highly illegal. And because of that, I grew up very differently than a girl in my position otherwise might. And my education led me to things that a proper lady otherwise wouldn't do. But it's made me very good at what I do and highly effective."

"Cora, what are you talking about?" Robert demanded, his confusion raising his ire.

"My father sent me to London by myself in order to do a job, and I was paid handsomely for it. And the first time we met, late at night in Whitechapel? That was right when I finished the job."

Robert had no idea what she was talking about. "My dear, you must stop obfuscating. If you're going to tell me the truth of something, please simply tell me."

She looked so nervous, and he really couldn't blame her. Obviously whatever she was trying to tell him was something difficult to explain. She looked down at her hands in her lap and took a deep breath. She looked back up at him with those luminous sapphire eyes and said, "I am a highly trained assassin."

Whatever Robert had expected her to say, that wasn't it. He burst out laughing. "Cora, you made this sound serious. It isn't like you to play jokes."

But her expression betrayed no jest. "I am not joking, Robert. I'm very serious. I am a contract killer. My father used me often in America, and when he was asked who would be able to do a job in London, he sent me. Do you remember that summer with Jack the Ripper and how everyone in Whitechapel was terrified all the time? And then the murders stopped? That's because I was there. I found Jack the Ripper and I killed him myself and left no trace so that there would be nothing to lead the police to any investigation. I'm very good at what I do, Robert."

Such an idea did not compute in Robert's mind. He couldn't accept it. There was no way any of this was true. "You…what?" he choked out. There were no words for something so ludicrous.

"Knives are my specialty. Messier than a gun, but much more subtle. There was one man in York I took care of a few months ago who carried on a conversation with me for another whole minute before he realized he was bleeding out." Now that she'd started talking, Cora didn't seem to want to stop.

"Knives?" Robert repeated faintly.

She nodded and stood up. Robert could hardly see what she'd done, only that there was a flip of her skirts and then suddenly she held a dagger in her hand! "I've got one on me at all times. I was trained to be prepared for anything. It's why I've not let you touch me too intimately when I'm fully dressed, you see. I was worried you'd find this strapped to my leg under my dress. I've gotten very good at fully arming myself after the maid dresses me and then hiding my knives away before she undresses me in the evenings. It was easier, actually, before I had any maid at all. But a countess can't be expected to not have a lady's maid." She put her knife away and sat back down on the settee.

Bloody hell, she was Countess of Grantham and telling him so very nonchalantly that she was a murderer! "How many?"

"How many what? Knives? Usually I've got one when we're at home, three when I go out with Mama or with you. And when I'm on a job, I have the three on my person and my fan that has a hidden compartment with my best knife."

Robert thought he was about to be sick. "No, how many people have you killed?" he asked.

"Oh!" She paused, frowning, as though such a question had never been posed to her. "I'm not sure. I think I've done about a dozen or so here in England. I can't recall how many in America. It was nice to take the time off for our honeymoon, I will say. And actually, I was nearly late for our wedding because I had to finish a job before I arrived at the church. Mama was very cross at me for that."

"Mama knows!?"

"She's the one who hired me for Jack the Ripper. I've been working with her since I arrived in England and have continued after we were engaged and then married," Cora confessed, chewing her lip anxiously.

Charles Carson happened to be walking through the grand foyer of Downton Abbey when he heard the slam of a door and the thundering of footsteps upstairs. He turned to the staircase to find none other than Lord Grantham practically running along the landing and down the stairs, dragging Lady Grantham by the hand behind him.

The Earl had an expression Carson had never seen before. Lord Grantham had always been a genial sort of man. His bad moods were sullen and, if Carson were to be so improper as to suggest, pouting. Fury like this was not expected from the young Lord.

But curiously, His Lordships sweet young American bride was not similarly enraged. Nor was she particularly upset. If Lord Grantham were so angry, perhaps one might expect his wife to be crying or frightened or something of the sort. No, instead, Her Ladyship looked strangely resigned. Sad, almost, but more so accepting of her husband's ire.

The pair practically flew down the stairs and passed Carson on the way to the library where Lord Grantham threw the door open, yanked Lady Grantham inside, and slammed the door closed behind them.

And then the shouting began. It wasn't too easy to hear exactly what was being said, and Carson would never deign to eavesdrop on the family, but from where he was standing, it was hard to ignore. Accusations of How could you!? and How dare! and Unacceptable! were heard in Lord Grantham's voice.

Responses were more muffled, but Carson could still hear Her Ladyship, the Dowager Countess, answering him with her voice similarly raised. Clearly, a terrible fight was happening between the two of them, and the Countess was stuck somewhere in the midst of it.

Unable to help himself—and knowing no one would see him—Carson smirked to himself. It was about time His Lordship learned what went on under this roof. Ever since Carson himself had been a footman, the Crawley family had been keeping half of England in its criminal stranglehold. The family treated those loyal to them impeccably well and no one would ever suspect that there was anything illicit about any of them. But it wasn't hard to know the truth. Lord Grantham himself was the only one who was kept away from it. Until now, at least.

It took everything Violet had to remain seated and not rise to Robert's level of ire. He was stalking the room like a caged tiger, shouting and ranting and saying all manner of wild things. When he became disrespectful, she gave a sharp retort but otherwise allowed him to continue ranting.

Cora stood there, silent and careful. She had obviously told Robert the truth and now he was demanding answers from his mother. Both Violet and Cora had predicted that. There was nothing else for it. But even Violet had to admit that Cora's quiet dignity was rather impressive in that moment. A weaker woman might have cowered to her husband's anger or at least made her discomfort known. Instead, Cora was still and patient and seemed to know that Robert had to get this all out of his system and they all just had to let him.

Eventually, thankfully, Robert seemed to run out of steam.

"Are you quite finished?" Violet asked.

Robert went over to the settee and flopped down in a rather undignified fashion. "For now," he answered wearily. "I just can't understand how this happened."

"It was your father who started it. I was in a position to be able to take control and build our family business to more than anyone ever imagined. Marmaduke has been a great help as well. And now Cora contributes quite effectively."

"Thank you," Cora said quietly, acknowledging the compliment.

"That's why you didn't want me to marry her, isn't it?" Robert accused.

"I didn't think it proper for the Earl of Grantham to marry an employee of the estate, no," Violet sniffed.

"She's not an employee, Mama, she's a murderer!"

"And a very good one. We've had much less dissent since we've had her," she replied.

"How can you all manage like this!?" he asked in disbelief.

Cora stepped in at that point. "Usually when we tell you we're attending a charity function, we're instead meeting with business associates. I have earned my reputation, so we're well-protected."

"So you're not doing charity work?"

"Technically I'm no longer being paid for my services, so I suppose it could be considered charity for the family when I do a job," Cora quipped.

Violet almost chuckled at that response, but she did not wish to anger Robert any further.

"I just can't believe this," Robert said, yet again.

"If you wish to be involved, you'll do well to talk to Marmaduke," Violet told him. "But Rosamund isn't part of the business, and we've carried on just fine without you, so you needn't change anything just because you know the truth now."

Robert gave her a withering stare. "I need to lie down." He hauled himself up off the settee and left the room without another word.

Violet turned to Cora. "I suppose that's as good as could have been expected."

Cora hummed in response. "I just hope he can forgive me."

"He will. He'll forgive the both of us. It may take a little time. You know how Robert enjoys an indulgent sulk. But my son is a kind-hearted man. He always comes around eventually."

"I hope you're right," Cora sighed.

Violet nearly added that Robert would certainly forgive his wife because he loved her and there was no sin that love could not overcome. But to say such a thing out loud and to Cora was just a bit too far for Violet. She instead turned back to her correspondence that had been interrupted by Robert's outburst. Cora took a book off the shelf and sat down by the fire to read.