AN: Thank you all for the extremely kind reviews! I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

With the edge of his knife, Robert attempted to discreetly scrape off the cream sauce drowning his duck. Of course Martha Levinson would pick a French hotel, when Robert quickly learned from his chatty luggage attendant that most Englishmen stayed at L'Hotel du L'Orient. He feared his stomach wouldn't withstand the three days of rich food they'd be subjected to, but Robert supposed he should be grateful. At least the cuisine was recognizable. The same couldn't be said for politeness of conversation.

There was no shortage of caterwauling at the dinner table, and for that Robert had Georgia Jansen to thank. One hour in her company had convinced him she was possibly the most grating human being he had ever encountered. Poor Mr. Jansen appeared to be of the same opinion, the grimace chiseling his face growing deeper each time his wife opened her mouth. And open it she did. Robert guessed her first breath was taken only after the second course had been cleared.

What Robert couldn't quite work out, what remained a half-hidden mystery, like the plot of a novel he should know the climax too, was the role of Mr. Claire. He had accompanied the Jansen's and Levinson's on their trip, clearly an acquaintance, though his deeper friendship seemed entirely focused on Mrs. Jansen. Interspersed with her constant jabbering to the party, were more intimate asides to Joseph Claire, who sat to Mrs. Jansen's right, riveted to every word that fell from her wide mouth. The studying of the two became a welcome distraction for Robert, and he was almost sorry once Mrs. Jansen's energy for endless chatter finally stalled, leaving the rest of the party to fend for themselves.

In the vacuum left by Mrs. Jansen's silence, the tension between the Levinsons became uncomfortably tangible. Despite being invited to tea, Cora had declined, sending word to her parents that the journey had been especially fatiguing and she would see them at dinner. Robert assumed she had taken the time to rest, though when he had arrived at her door to escort her to the dining room, he couldn't help but notice her reddened eyes and lackluster enthusiasm. Aside from a small greeting as they entered the dining room, Cora had said very little, and the stiff embrace shared by father and daughter only exacerbated the beginnings of indigestion that had begun to twitch at Robert's gut.

In the moments during the conversation's lull, when the rest of his dining companions searched their plates with feigned interest or swilled down their wine at an alarming speed, Robert attempted to catch Cora's eye. Either too absorbed in her own thoughts to feel the pressure of his attention or unwilling to lift her head up, Cora continued to push the contents of her entree around the white china it rested on. Robert wished very badly that he and Cora were back on the ship, just the two of them. Reflecting on their sixteen day journey at sea, a tender warmth eased into the spaces left chilled by the events of the afternoon. Above all, Robert had enjoyed the time he and Cora had spent in each other's company. Compared to their short time in Egypt, the waters they had traveled seemed idyllic.

"I'm simply dying to hear how you are getting on!" Robert flinched, his insides cringing as Mrs. Jansen's noisome voice pierced the silence once again. Robert glanced at her to see she had eyes on Cora.

An awkward pause followed the woman's outburst before Martha nudged Cora's elbow. Cora looked up quickly, her eyes darting like a startled deer, until she realized Mrs. Jansen had been speaking to her. Robert could see her visibly shrink back. He placed his fork onto the plate and folded his hands together in his lap, nails digging into his flesh. Some part of him intuited that he should find an excuse to take Cora away from the disastrous meal, but no such reason presented itself.

"I'm sorry?" Cora responded finally, her voice quiet.

Mrs. Jansen's laugh came out more like a bark and Robert closed his eyes briefly. "I want to know how your new life is!"

A smile, small as it was, touched Cora's face for the first time as she quickly glanced across at him and a responding flutter tickled Robert's chest.

"I think I'm acclimating," Cora responded sweetly before taking a sip of her wine.

"She's doing splendid." Robert offered and Cora's eyes flickered at him again, some of their brilliance returning.

"See Martin!" Mrs. Jansen exclaimed, turning to her husband, who openly glared at his wife.

Mrs. Jansen leaned toward Cora, unphased by the ice contained in her husband's look. "When Catherine comes of age, I will be counting on you to introduce her to only the finest English gentlemen! I think she'll do much better over there than anything New York has to offer."

"We'll see about that," Mr. Jansen mumbled before gulping generously from his wine glass.

Robert's confusion was quickly dispelled as he recalled the shy young girl sitting with the adults at Cora and his arrival. She had favored Mr. Jansen's more delicate features but had her mother's rust-colored curls. The child couldn't be more than twelve years old.

"She's already the perfect little lady." Mrs. Jansen gushed. "And if I may say, she could easily catch a duke with all of the preparation we are doing."

"A duke?!" Mr Claire declared, his bobbing eyebrows and dramatic emphasis on the title earning him foul looks from the other two men at their table. Yes, it was clear he was not there by the invitation of Isadore or Martin.

"I'm sure Cora would be happy to help." Martha said. "Won't you dear?"

Cora looked from her mother to Mrs. Jansen. "Yes, yes...of course, if Catherine-".

"Now if only your mother had applied the rigorous regimen Catherine is going through to you!" Mrs. Jansen interrupted. "Perhaps the Levinson's would be boasting a duchess in the family! Instead of...what is that you're called, dear?"

Robert watched Cora's mouth open and close, the shock of the woman's boldness no doubt leaving her as speechless as it left him infuriated.

"Viscountess," Robert said through gritted teeth. "She is the Viscountess Downton."

"Ahh," Mrs. Jansen replied, her eyes bulging and Robert breathed in steadily through his nostrils, trying to temper the boiling response he wished to hurl at the woman's smug face.

"I'm in need of a cigar," Isadore broke the stoic muteness he had adopted for the evening and stood abruptly, dropping his napkin onto the table "Jansen?"

Mr. Jansen nodded eagerly, the most animation Robert had yet to see from him, and practically skipped up from his seat. The two men turned, quickly looking to leave their company.

"Isadore!" Martha hissed through a tight smile, her eyes bouncing in Robert's direction.

His father in law slowly looked him over, his eyes so shockingly similar to Cora's that Robert had to remember not to gaze into them as intensely as he would his wife's. Isadore was indeed the mold Cora seemed to be fleshed out from. Same tall and reedy stature, same coloring, Cora was her father through and through. It was disconcerting to see her features arranged in this stranger's hostile face.

Isadore sighed. "Well LORD Downton, will you join us?"

Robert opened his mouth to amend Isadore, to hastily tell him there was no need for such formalities among family, until he clamped his lips shut at Cora's horrified look. Isadore was mocking him, his wife's father, the dying man he'd brought Cora halfway around the world to see, was making fun of him. In other circumstances Isadore's treatment would be galling, but it only left Robert feeling sorry. It's what propelled him to accept Isadore's invitation, grudgingly given as it was, putting aside his own discomfort to help initiate some friendly feelings between the two of them.

Giving Cora a reassuring nod, Robert rose from his seat and followed the back of the two men, who already had left the dining hall and had disappeared down a short corridor. Behind him he could hear Mr. Claire's overzealous promise.

"I'll keep an eye on the women folk."

The room Robert found himself in was mostly empty, only a handful of patrons smoking and drinking whiskey. They settled down at a table in the corner, and almost immediately, a waiter appeared, taking their drink orders. Once the tiny Egyptian had left, Robert found himself the subject of the older men's scrutiny. Isadore and Mr. Jansen carefully produced their cigars and trimmed the ends neatly, almost in tandem. All the while the pair of eyes followed him over the pluming flame of the matches they held up, puffing methodically until they snuffed the flints out. Robert fumbled his own smoking paraphernalia from his pocket.

The whiskeys arrived and still none of them had spoken. Robert took up his glass quickly. The amber liquid lit a fire down his esophagus and he suppressed the responding cough that threatened to burst forth. Unwilling to show Isadore and Mr. Jansen a weakness, Robert cleared his throat behind his raised hand. The two men turned away from him and began to talk to each other, something about stocks and New York business dealings that Robert had no interest in. He settled into a pattern of sipping and smoking, letting his mind ferment in his own thoughts, until Robert was not aware of the passage of time.

"I never realized the English were so quiet!" Mr. Jansen hiccuped.

Robert shook himself out of his own musings and glanced at the man, noting the glazed quality of his eyes, the lopsided grin he'd adopted. Looking to the table, Robert saw a number of empty glasses and wondered just how long they had been away from the women. He turned, eyeing the door to the room, wondering if Cora and the rest would join them, or if there was a woman's drawing room to meet her in. He was about to ask his companions when his father-in-law drew in a harsh breath. Robert looked back in time to see Isadore clutching his side. When he noticed Robert watching him, Isadore swallowed down whatever pain had plagued him and lifted his chin.

"It seems odd, you and Cora showing up here." Isadore said, the strain in his voice still evident.

The whiskey in Robert's belly began to turn sour as he struggled with words to explain their presence. "Well, Cora received a letter from Martha detailing your trip and so…".

Isadore narrowed his eyes until they were like twin half moons, only a shock of blue peering out. "Did Martha know you were coming?"

"Um…" Robert scanned the room, hoping that somehow Cora would appear.

"That's an awfully decent gesture!" Mr. Jansen slurred, clapping Robert on the shoulder. "Levi, he's not so bad!"

"Yes," Isadore replied slowly, "not so bad if you overlook stealing my daughter. And my money."

"Now wait just a-". Robert began, shifting in his seat. His words were cut off as he saw her round the corner into the room. Like the climactic scene in a penny dreadful, Cora came in unaware, her mother close behind. Her smile lit the way as her eyes found his. Robert stopped talking, concentrating on the look he was giving her in return, the one that screamed for her to turn back.

"Do not make any pretenses. Not to my face." Isadore growled. Robert's breath quickened as Cora advanced towards them.

"Aww, Levi," Mr. Jansen said. "Give the boy a break. He brought her all the way-."

"With my money!" Isadore spat and Cora stopped in her tracks. Robert shook his head but she remained rooted to the spot, just as Isadore gripped the arms of his chair.

"Please," Robert pleaded, holding up a hand but Isadore ignored him.

"I can see what is going on here" Isadore said. "Almost a year to the day that you married Cora and what have you to show for it?"

"Isadore," Martha cautioned from behind, but her husband did not hear her.

"There isn't even a child!" Isadore's voice never rose above a hiss, but it rang in Robert's ears like a siren.

Out of his chair in an instant, Robert stepped toward Cora. Her hand was over her mouth and she shook her head, eyes wide.

"Cora…" Robert said softly and Isadore whipped around, confronted with the pale visage of his daughter.

Isadore stood quickly. "My dear…".

The beginnings of a sob broke through the barrier of Cora's hand before she stifled it and whirled around, rushing from the room. All of the discomfort, all of the swelling anger that Robert had kept in check all evening came bubbling up and Robert clenched his fists at his side.

"How could you be so cruel?" Robert asked quietly, though every nerve in his body raged. "YOU profess to love Cora and then you say something so heartless!"

"He didn't know, Robert." Martha said gently, coming to her husband's side.

Isadore's look of disdain changed to one of confusion and he looked quickly down to Martha. "What are you talking about? What didn't I know?"

Martha closed her eyes and sighed, her shoulders falling forward. "Cora was pregnant, Isadore."

"What?" There was the tiniest of cracks in Isadore's voice and he stared hard at Martha, waiting for her to answer. When she turned away, Isadore's broken look focused on Robert. "That cannot be."

Robert unclenched his fists, only to ball them up again. "It was lost."

Isadore's features crumpled slightly, falling into the deep grooves of his thin face, his attention once again on his wife. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Martha placed a hand on his arm. "I didn't want to upset you. She's very young. These things happen."

Robert's grasp on civility was slipping. Before he could say anything that would strain relations more than they were, he ducked away from the group, mumbling a curt goodnight.


Robert had gone straight to Cora's room after leaving her parents, but Cora had refused to answer his persistent knocks. Retreating to his own room, he waited for Jones. The valet came quickly and did his job efficiently, quiet save for a few necessary murmurs and for that, Robert was thankful. He wanted the silence, though it only helped churn up what had happened, agitating the helplessness he had begun to feel.

"Will there be anything else, milord?"

Robert smoothed a palm over the silk of his night shirt and shook his head, sliding his feet into his slippers. Jones nodded wordlessly and turned down the gaslit sconce near the door before exiting. Looking around the room, Robert couldn't remember ever feeling more out of place. From the oddity of the continent he found himself on, to his misplacement among the Americans, there seemed no familiar footing to land on.

Except Cora. They were becoming more accustomed to each other every day, so much so, that Robert realized he needed to see her. He couldn't let her alone after such harsh remarks.

Restoring his courage, and determining he wouldn't leave until he at least saw her face, Robert opened the door from his room and stepped out into the narrow hallway. Her room number stared back at him, just a few short steps away, though it felt much farther. Instantly, loneliness took a hold of him. He didn't want to be alone. As much as he wanted to make sure Cora was alright, he didn't want to be without her.

With a boldness strengthened by his revelation, Robert struck the door separating them with his knuckles, not with a force that would startle her but with enough determination that Cora would know he meant to see her. The moments that followed were still, noiseless. Placing an ear to the wood, Robert could not detect any sound and his resolve wavered. If Cora truly wanted to be alone, he couldn't force her to see him.

With shoulders slumped, Robert placed his palm on the wood and then stepped away. The rattle of a chain and the slide of the lock disengaging stopped him, and Robert jerked around in time to see the door yawn open slowly, revealing Cora in its frame. Mitchell had already been in, for Cora's hair was down, curls cascading from the end of her braid and spilling over her shoulder. Her hands gripped the edges of her dressing gown, pulling them together at her chest. There was no evidence of tears, but her eyes seemed to float in a well of barely suppressed sadness.

His first thought was that he should like to hold her. But for all of their growing easiness around each other, it just wasn't who they were. Perhaps one day. Robert did hope for it, but not now. Instead, Robert extended his hand in the direction of her suite.

"May I?" Robert asked tentatively and he let out a breath when Cora nodded in the affirmative.

He went further into the room. It, like the rest of the hotel, was a little too flamboyantly decorated for his tastes. In contrast to the simplicity of Cora's cream colored housecoat, the the unadorned freshness of her beauty, the Louis XVI ornamentation was too much and Robert averted his eyes from all of the frilly, velvety furnishings and focused on Cora. She had walked passed him after he had entered and now stood in front of her vanity. Absently, she picked up her brush, running the hard teeth through the ringlets left unbraided.

Robert opened his mouth, intending to say something, though what he still hadn't quite worked out in his mind, but Cora chose that moment to place her brush back down and angle her chin over her shoulder. He studied her profile as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

"I should hate to refuse you," Cora's words were faint and Robert leaned forward to catch them all. "But I'm rather exhausted. I'm sorry."

"What?" Robert replied in puzzled response.

Cora faced him more fully and tucked her arms around herself. "I know it isn't...right for a wife to...rebuff a husband's…".

"You think I wish to…?" Robert floundered for the word and was instantly relieved when Cora nodded slowly.

"No," Robert said gently, clasping his hands behind his back. "I didn't come for….that." He turned and glanced at the door before facing Cora again. "But I don't care for you being so far away."

Cora chuckled. "I'm only across the hall."

Robert's mouth twisted into a scowl. "That is far enough, judging from some of the men I saw on the dock. It makes me uneasy. Do you think…?"

It was Robert's turn to look away, letting his eyes dance toward the bed. When Cora remained quiet he peered over to her hesitantly. She blinked at him, her mouth relaxing into a tentative smile.

"Of course," Cora replied, walking to the side of the bed she was closest too.

Satisfied, Robert untied the strings of his house coat and tossed it over a chair, toeing off his slippers and practically hopped to the right side of the bed. Folding down the blankets, he slid in, waiting as Cora did the same. In tandem, they lowered the lights on the nighttables and then settled into the darkness. Robert could feel Cora breathing beside him, her warm toe skimming over his ankle.

"Sorry," she whispered at the contact.

Robert smiled, though she wouldn't be able to see. He took in a breath, intending to mention Isadore's hurtful words but then stifled the impulse. It was too nice, laying there by one another, to dampen the mood. As his eyelids grew heavier, a feeling settled over Robert, warming him. Perhaps it wasn't just one feeling, but a whole patchwork of them, like a woven quilt. Lying next to her was almost as gratifying as their lovemaking and Robert doubted he would ever willing sleep alone again.