One

Chasing rainbows and Spinning Dreams

"Can it possibly be

The future for me is you

…Wait until I can tell you all my schemes

Chasing rainbows spinning dreams

Tell me please your name"

Tell me your name, Jose Mari Chan

The silence in the room was so loud that one could hear a pin drop – as the old adage went, anyway, – and for one brief second, Cora found herself questioning if her boss was all right in the head. Maybe she had lost her mind after all the stress and was now clinically insane.

That, after all, was the only logical explanation to her even remotely suggesting this.

Cora looked away from her boss, wondering what she should do or say next, when her gaze met the eyes of the man on the other side of the room. Robert, that's what Rosamund said, but Cora already knew that. There was nary a soul in this entire company who didn't. He rarely made any appearance, but he's never missed one company party and his name was always on everybody's lips.

Cora could still – though she would never say it out loud or admit it – remember the first time she had seen the esteemed Mr. Robert Crawley. It had been during her first company Christmas party. She was new, a new hire fresh from her internship, and she'd been so young and so infatuated by the piercing blue eyes that barely looked her way even once in the party. He'd been caught up, talking to the big wigs, to his sister, and their other colleagues and didn't have time for the little Miss Americana that was Cora. Not that Cora had minded very much, she was content with sipping her wine and admiring Mr. Crawley from afar.

He was handsome and his laugh was loud and boisterous, although hardly offensive. He spoke to Mr. Carson and his wife, Mrs. Elsie Hughes-Carson, who both worked with them at the company, like they were old friends – with respect and authority, but with clear affection. Cora could have only hoped, at that time, to be treated the same.

Now, here she was, sitting in the office of her boss, having been just told that she should marry the CEO of the company she's working for so she can stay in London. She felt like she needed more ruminating about the "brilliant idea" of the boss in question, but she figured there wasn't really even enough time to ruminate that. It was insane . That, in her mind, should count as a red flag right? That her boss was insane?

"Well?" Rosamund started to speak, though she looked just a little bit nervous, or anxious, or maybe it was self-realization – Cora could only hope for the last. "It's such an unmusical way of putting things, brother." She cleared her throat and nodded anyway. Clearly, any hopes of sanity were dashed at this point. "I was suggesting a convenient marriage with a deadline…if you're amenable, of course."

If he was amenable? And what of her? What of Cora? She was the one being so carelessly and recklessly hitched to a man she doesn't know very well, the same man who barely casted her a glance since she walked into this room. Was her opinion of no consequence?

She cleared her throat, alerting her companions to her presence. It worked. Rosamund shifted her gaze and looked at Cora with a hint of guilt in her eyes. Not enough, that much was clear.

"And Ms. Levinson," Rosamund added, almost insultingly, as an after-afterthought.

"This is crazy," Cora muttered without much thought, and Rosamund looked at her sharply, though the sharpness was dulled by something – admittance, perhaps? "This is crazy."

It appeared that repeating how crazy she found it did very little to make it less crazy.

But Robert's subtle nod told her, at least, that she wasn't the only one who thought so.

She should really start a drinking game for every time she thought, said, or even felt like this was insane or crazy. She would be in the hospital in less than an hour with a carefully annotated chart that said she should be seen by a psychiatrist for alcohol addiction.

"I don't know much about the visa and legal processes of things here, if I'm honest, but I don't need to be a legal expert to know that to make this work, we have to prove the relationship between your brother and I," Cora added when neither of the Crawleys deigned it their time to speak. "Well, I hardly think that providing proof for something that didn't exist could be easy!"

She felt her blood pressure rising for some inexplicable reason. Surely, it's nuts to think that this would work beyond some level of imagination that no one else possessed but Rosamund Painswick, but she was so irrationally angry.

Perhaps, it's because of the hopes and dreams that this dashed for her. There was hope, still, even after she'd realized her fuck up, because Rosamund had given it to her. Rosamund had said they wouldn't let her go back to New York and make her leave this life behind. Granted, it's not all so dramatic when she's from a first world country like the United States – she could always go back – but it wasn't just leaving. It was missing out on her first big project. It was the uncertainty of coming back. Rosamund had reassured her that she would find a way and Cora had believed it. And Cora is so fucking pissed that this is what she had come up with: a batshit crazy idea for Cora to marry her brother, an idea that had more holes than swiss cheese. She handed out hope and took it away so cruelly. Cora felt tears begin to prick her eyelids and she had the biggest need to run out of here, pronto !

Rosamund sighed and pulled at one of her desk drawers. She fished out one long Manila Envelope and handed it to Cora. Cora was reluctant to take it at first, but Rosamund just nodded encouragingly so Cora finally took it. She opened it slowly and what greeted her made her less certain of what she felt.

"Those are pictures from Company trips and parties, and that one night I invited you for a dinner party at my house in Belgrave, Cora," she said. "There are also itineraries of company trips you both have taken, which I must say lined up pretty nicely for this moment. If I wasn't the one who thought of this idea, I'd be looking into these myself."

"What –" Cora began to ask, as she rifled through the pictures and documents inside the brown envelope. It felt like she just opened the pandora's box without ever knowing there was one. She lifted one paper and scrutinized it to the best of her ability, finding herself surprised how the dates and the times lined up like magic. "Are these real?"

Rosamund nodded. "Yes, of course," she said, sounding almost affronted. "Submitting falsified documents is a felony, Miss Levinson. I already talked to our Solicitor, Murray." She pointed at the documents in Cora's hand. "Those are all real travel logs of company trips you both were sent on. It seems to me that you've been sent to the same places, or very near to each other at least, at the same time, all on business. If I didn't know any better I'd think you were having dalliances."

That's just preposterous and slanderous. Cora has never fooled around during official business trips, and she would never have, much less with the CE-fucking-O of the Company she's working for. It's all some weird coincidence. She spared her counterpart a glance but he's just resolutely studying the files in his hands.

"I would never–" Cora began, but Rosamund raised her hand and waved it dismissively. It was effective in shutting Cora up, and probably in precluding her from embarrassing herself further. As if Robert Crawley would ever have interest in her.

But she felt his eyes on her now, as Rosamund spoke, and there was no doubt in her mind that he thought of how stupid all of this is, and how she, Cora, was not worth the trouble she was making. For that alone, Cora refused to look up and meet his eyes.

"I know that, of course," Rosamund said, cutting Cora's petty but vindictive thoughts short. "But they don't know that. These are all business related meetings and trips, true, although the company cannot account for the times after you finished your official businesses. Luckily, most of the hotels you stayed at were our hotels or we are affiliated to in some way— anyway, the point is, it's the same hotel, just different floors. That's enough to make it work. They won't need any CCTV footage of you together that does not exist, lucky for us." She cleared her throat. "I lament the image it would present to them, but that's beside the point. It's not a corporate crime to be shacking up with your girlfriend on business trips if she were already staying in the same hotel." Robert did not say much but he did raise his eyebrow in question and Rosamund smirked at him, teasing him as a sister would. "Hypothetically speaking, of course."

"Of course," Robert murmured. He seemed to regard the situation for a moment. "It won't work." There was finality in his words that was hard to refute, and Cora shuddered internally. He was right. It won't work.

It seemed like a decision was made for Cora before she could make it herself. Rosamund's eyes widened, and for the first time, Cora could see genuine anger behind the bright blue eyes she pierced her brother with.

"And you wouldn't even try?" Rosamund asked, her anger masking her disappointment and desperation though it clearly didn't work. Those were as loud as her voice was getting now.

"It isn't worth it," Robert said. "Find another way or find a replacement. It won't work, and the repercussions of this half-cocked idea should the proverbial shit inevitably hit the fan would bring about more damage than good. You know it."

Rosamund flushed. "Have you a better plan then?" she asked, her voice rising and rising and so was her temper and her blood pressure. "I'm trying to save us from ruins and all you do is be a skeptic about it!"

"It's called realism, Ros," Robert said, his voice rising too. He was getting red in the gills, and Cora thought that perhaps he would look very fetching fired up, if the situations weren't so dire. She realized how perverse and inappropriate it was to think, and very quickly ordered her mind to stop, resolving to watch quietly as the two argued. "And don't be so dramatic. You're never more indignant and righteous than when you know you're wrong."

Her opinion on the matter clearly didn't matter very much, so Cora watched as Rosamund simmered in a pot of her own ire and Robert's, admittedly, offensive words.

"Why are you being a prick?" Rosamund asked angrily. "Do you not care about Downton at all?"

It burst the dam, so to speak, and Robert stook up, almost toppling his chair in the process and threw the Manila envelope, along with its entails, to the table, only barely missing Rosamund who jumped away in fright. She was not used to her brother's outbursts, it seemed. Robert did not strike Cora as a violent man, either.

"I have given my life to Downton, I was born to work here and I'm sure it's hoped that I die here. I claim no career beyond the future of this company. It is my third parent and first child. Do I care about it?" He huffed and his eyes glowered. "Yes, I do care!"" He was red and flustered by the time he finished speaking, and he was panting. It was hard not to conclude that there was more here than Cora's visa, but that was not in Cora's place to delve into.

"Robert –" Rosamund spoke softly, as if sombered by her brother's monologue. Robert looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, and Cora could relate. Rosamund sighed. "I know you care," she said, though Cora couldn't say if she's saying it to appease her brother. "I know you care, and because you do, I beg you to just give it a chance. Look, it's worth a shot, at least. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't." Rosamund spared Cora a meaningful glance. "There's a lot riding on here other than just your visa, Cora. Your project cannot be delayed, and if it means that we should risk this, then I'll say we gamble."

Cora swallowed. There were some pieces of the puzzle missing here, and it was odd because she was quite certain they were here playing chess. After all, she was the pawn. Everything made sense and made no sense all at the same time. She didn't like being in the dark about it all, and she didn't like the fact that it felt like everything was riding on her capacity to stay or not stay.

"Cora?" Rosamund asked, as if now realizing that her input was as invaluable as any. She turned to her brother then. "Robert?"

But it was clear that neither Robert nor Cora knew what to say.

.::.

Robert knew it could be anything but good news when his sister had called him. He loved Rosamund as a brother did, but she was somewhat a harbinger of doom, and Robert knew better than to expect good news when she asked for "visit".

Still, he'd be remiss not to make a visit, especially if the matters concerned were of the business – which was in deep and regrettable shambles right now, though he tried not to think too hard about it – so he had gone to her office with an open mind and logic, and a lot more patience that he usually would.

All of that thrown out of the window so far and so fast, within minutes really, he thought he needn't have bothered with it all. His sister must be insane. It must be time to tell Mama that they should have Rosamund checked. How else could he explain this deranged idea that his sister was spouting? Non compos mentis , that's his only logical explanation.

Part of him wondered if Rosamund was taking the mickey out of him. There had been talks at home of his single blessedness , and how Mama and Papa had been quite adamant that he found someone to date soon, marry even, if they had anything to do about it (and Rosamund, it now seemed). Especially Mama who had cared not for the rumors flying around of Robert's sexual preference – she was positively Machiavellian, and all that. But he knew, they knew, everyone knew that it was not much a concern – he had his fair share of women over the years, after all, and – his sexual preferences were none of anyone else's business. There was not much to be said about it either, because he was perfectly droll and a dud, and completely and entirely straight. Perfectly "normal", as the societal standards were. Not again, that it was of any consequence to anyone, whatsoever.

Perhaps, mama and Ros were in cahoots? But Robert couldn't see that picture very well because Mama and Rosamund were always at the very opposing and warring ends of the spectrum. They loved each other, sure, but they had a very difficult and complicated relationship. Rosamund would dare not do anything Mama bid because that would go against every grain of her being.

Robert sighed as he looked at Rosamund. He listened with annoyance at his sister's cocked up idea for him to marry their employee. It was such a stupid idea, it was almost degrading to listen to. Why did his sister think this would fly? How did she think it would? And did she think that every time they encountered such a problem, it would be a good idea to marry him off? Or maybe she'd get creative and pick another one of their 200 something other employees?

As Rosamund explained to them the itineraries that he had not much control over, really, Robert chanced a glance upon the woman he was supposed to play house with. Cora, he remembered his sister called her. Robert didn't know much about her, except that she's an American Heiress trying her hand out here in London. More like slumming it, really, she needed none of these things in London when she had a cushy job waiting for her in New York at her Father's empire. But she seemed passionate about her job, or so he's heard, and if her staying here and listening to Rosamund's depravity was any indication.

He thought her pretty, and he'd be a liar if he said otherwise, but she's too young. Too green. Too innocent. Granted there's only about 5 years between them, if that, but that's a few years too many in terms of the things they'd seen in life, things they had to go through. She was a sheltered princess, given her stature and wealth and class in life, and he's not wanting for money either, but…they were not the same. He'd been born to a legacy, and while she, too, was born with a name so heavy it was sometimes difficult to bear – she was afforded a choice on how to live her life.

He was not.

There was, however, nothing wrong about appreciating her looks. She was a pretty girl with a pretty smile. It still didn't mean he would pretend to be her husband to save her job.

But, she's smart too, he surmised, when he heard her ask the right questions. Rosamund came prepared, though, and it's evident that realism, logic, and reason stood nothing against his sister's delusion. She was insane enough to look him in the eye and make a joke when nothing about this was funny to him at all. That's when he snapped.

But he'd been cool and collected, so much so that he could possibly give himself an award for it. He'd simply stated it wouldn't work. Because it fucking wouldn't – anyone with half a brain could see that. But his sister with her full brain and her fancy degrees couldn't. She'd insisted. Words were hurled between them, and then she did the unthinkable. She questioned his loyalty to Downton.

Wrong move.

If anything was amiss in his life, that could very well be true, but Downton wouldn't be it. Downton was his life's work. He had been groomed to take over, to live and breathe and eat Downton, to be the heir, the next in line. He had been working here long before he even knew how to write, so how could Rosamund even question if he cared.

He cared too much, that's the problem!

His outburst shocked his sister. And it shocked pretty little Cora whose blue eyes glittered with something inexplicable, – though they were not tears— they drew him in. Her sharp gaze, contrasted by the softness of her brilliant blue eyes perturbed him. He wasn't sure how or why but she seemed to be regarding him like a book that she's had every right to read. Well, she did not.

Silence followed his ebullition of anger, until Rosamund spoke with a plea. It got to him, it's true, but logic and reason would never stand for it. His logic and reason wouldn't. So when his sister asked, "Cora? Robert?", he simply didn't know what to say.

.::.

Perhaps it was her masochism that brought her here. There were many other things – a million other things, in fact – that she could be spending her time on, rather than responding to the kind, but inevitably self-serving invite of her boss for dinner. Rosamund wanted to apologize, or rather, she wanted her brother to apologize to Cora in person, so dinner invitations were extended, and Cora, a colossal fool, agreed to go.

She had boxes to pack for her trip home (for good) in less than two weeks, yet here she was, going to dinner with her bosses. Nothing's odd about that, surely. But when she'd told her roommate, Phyllis had balked and her eyes widened, and she'd asked the right questions like, " why would they invite you? " But Phyllis also did not have the faintest idea of what had happened only yesterday – and bloody Christ, was that only yesterday? – so she had no idea why Rosamund would be asking Cora to go out for a meal. With her brother. Who she had thought would be a good match for a green card marriage, as they were called.

Cora decided that she would tell Phyllis about it all, when she had the time to sit her best friend down and have a cup (with something stronger blended in, because that's the only way they would both go through this insane story), but now was not that time. She agreed to go to dinner with the Crawleys, after all, and so now, with deep regrets, she made her way to the restaurant of Rosamund's choice.

Rosamund greeted her with a smile and a kiss on the cheek as she arrived, as if they were old friends and not boss and employee. Cora was then very quickly introduced to the man that Rosamund came with – her husband, Mr. Duke Painswick. Cora remembered him, she'd hardly forget the events and the cast of characters from yesterday's drama. He seemed to not have changed in the last 24-hours, Cora noted. He was still that kind man with a head full of blonde hair and a jolly smile. He walked with a very slight limp, but the way he carried himself made the limp barely noticeable. Rosamund and Duke didn't seem to mind the minor disability, and neither did Cora, because apart from it being a physical description of the man, it bore no meaning to his personality or the way he lived his life, or the way he adored his wife.

Cora tried to ignore, very politely but also very pointedly, when the couple would make googly eyes at each other, or when Duke teased his wife and Rosamund would blush like a teenager in the throes of first love. It's not that Cora found it disgusting or untoward, but it was rather difficult to sit through that when she was devastatingly and achingly single. That, and the fact that the woman had just suggested that she marry her brother for a visa — such a cold and antiromantic sentiment couldn't have come from the same woman in front of her now, could it?

The brother in question was running late. Cora was glad for that because she's not entirely sure how to face him just yet. She was also happy to have been informed beforehand that he was also coming tonight, but that didn't help her that much. His angry monologue was forever seared in her brain, for reasons that she was more or less ashamed of. Meaning, they weren't as morally upright as they should be. But she was trying to get past that, and trying not to wrap her last few remaining brain cells at the image of the throbbing veins in Robert's neck when he'd screamed so angrily.

See? She was too single, entirely untouched for way too many months , that at the first sight of something so primal, her knees had buckled and her sanity had left her body.

"Cora," Rosamund called out, halting Cora's less than innocent thoughts. She really should stop having these mental inanities, it neither helped her predicament nor did anything beneficial to her mental health. She regarded Rosamund for a moment, who seemed to be just putting her phone away. "I'm sorry Robert is running late, he just got out of his meeting and is on the way here."

They'd already been here for a good half hour, and he's just now leaving work. Cora tried not to feel slighted, but it's also kind of grating. She nodded at her boss though and plastered a small smile on her lips. It didn't really matter much because she's here anyway.

"That's fine," she said as she braced herself for whatever was to come next.

.::.

He was running late. Part of him knew that he was doing it on purpose. That last meeting could have simply been an email but he'd agreed to a face to face meeting because it gave him an excuse to stall. He wasn't ready to face Ms. Levinson just yet, but his sister had insisted. After that cursed meeting in Rosamund's office, Robert had ignored his sister, but not for long because she had Duke call him this morning. When Robert picked up (his mistake, he would admit), Rosamund had snatched back the phone and demanded that he apologize to Cora. If nothing else, at least for the horrific display of temper that day. Robert, despite his annoyance with his little sister, had acquiesced because he did feel a tiny sliver of guilt for his actions. The sudden burst of emotions wasn't exactly normal, but it was also justified. However, Cora needed not be an audience for it. None of this was her fault, after all.

Well…alright, it was her fault for not getting her visa sorted out on time, but she was also not the one who suggested they marry. That was Ros, and he blamed only Ros for that. He thought of Cora's doe eyes, and how they widened with surprise, how they sparkled, and how they expressed. Magnificent blue eyes haunted him, and he wasn't sure what to make of it. He was never the one to stay stuck on fanciful imaginations, but here were brilliant blue eyes that plagued him.

' It's only been two days, Robert, get a grip ,' he reminded himself.

When his meeting was over, he'd taken languid steps out of his office and to his car. He was still in no hurry; if he was lucky, his dinner companions would have already finished eating and he could make his apologies to Cora and leave. He didn't need to be in their presence for more than was necessary. Tom was already waiting for him with the car parked in front of the entrance, and Robert climbed in with only a nod in greeting. Unfortunately for Robert, London decided that it could do without heavy traffic that night, and he'd been driven to the restaurant in just ten minutes, the car slowing to a stop right in front of it.

"I'll just park out in the street sir," Tom, his Irish socialist chauffeur, said as he opened the door to the car to let Robert out.

Robert nodded at him in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Tom," he said. "I'll ring you when we're done." He lifted his arm to check the time. "Hopefully not too late." He did not want to bother his driver with a late night when they have an early morning the next day, too.

Tom's response was a polite nod, and then Robert made his way inside the restaurant. He spotted his sister right away, her flaming red hair standing out against the crowd. Duke was here, too, which offered a bit of relief to Robert, and they were both talking to Cora whose back was to the door. Her black hair was a stark contrast, almost jarring, against the soft hues of their rather noisy backdrop. The restaurant was still quite busy, considering the hour, but none of it mattered now.

Rosamund's hand flew up to the air as soon as her eyes spotted him through the door. She had a smile on her face, remnants, perhaps, of some joke that her husband had made. Duke liked to make jokes, and it clearly affected Cora too, as her smile froze when she turned around to face him.

Something inside him dropped. He wasn't that ornery, was he? But then she forced up a smile on her lips, greeting him with kindness although he wasn't too sure he deserved it. He walked to their table, making slow and sure steps as he went, and gave them all a polite nod in greeting. Rosamund made him sit and then flagged down the maitre to ask for a menu.

"We've already ordered," Rosamund said with a lackadaisical wave of her hand towards the menu.

Robert nodded at her and started perusing the menu in his hand, keenly aware that Miss Levinson was seated right next to him, and that the last time they'd seen each other, it was a rather sorry affair. He had been mad and had exploded in front of her, which he shouldn't have. Speaking of –

He turned to her, not needing any prodding from his sister lest this turn into a sermon at the mount, and cleared his throat to catch Cora's attention. It worked as she turned to him with curious eyes. He tried to soften his expression, trying to convey his regrets, and spoke.

"I'm sorry, Miss Levinson, for the outrageous display of temper you had to bear witness to," he said, wondering why he was speaking in such a manner. A simple " I'm sorry " would have sufficed. But she was incredibly polite, and did not make any comments. "It was not meant for your eyes, and I should not have subjected you to it."

She smiled at him, one brilliant smile that almost blinded him. It was simple, careless, a have-gun-will-travel-level-easy sloven smile. "No problem, Mr. Crawley," she said. It pained him how old Mr. Crawley made him sound, and it made him wonder what his name would sound like on her lips. But he halted that thought train before it could go anywhere because these weren't thoughts he was meant to be having.

About his employee, no less. The employee that his sister thought he should pretend to marry. Right. All roads led back to that, and they shouldn't. He shouldn't think more of it because it's all moot and academic at this point. He wasn't going to do it, even after his sister's long podcast of why this mattered more than anything to them. Specifically to Downton. But still, he knew there were workarounds, he would help her find it, he had promised, and this whole marriage business can be un-business-ed right about now.

"Robert is fine," he murmured, surprising all four people in this table, including himself. He cleared his throat and willed himself not to blush, but it really didn't work that way, did it? "We aren't at work, you shouldn't have to call me by my last name." He could see from his peripheral vision the way his sister's eyes widened. "It also makes me sound so old."

He wondered if Cora called Rosamund by her first name, but he didn't want to ask because he already doubted she did.

She volunteered this information, however, without prompting. "I don't call your sister, my boss, by her first name," she pointed out, almost defensively.

But he played it off with casualty and indifference. "That's your business with her, not me," he told her, almost proud of himself for that.

Rosamund smirked knowingly across the table. What she knew, he didn't really know, and did not want to bother with. "You can, though? Outside of work, at least. If you want to," she said. "It's true, this Mrs. Painswick business is making me sound old."

He'd be grateful for her support but he knew she'd take it back and whip him with it later, so he remained quiet. Cora looked horrified at the suggestion, and she looked like she'd rather eat slugs than call them by their first name.

"Are you saying that being my wife ages you, darling?" Duke teased Rosamund, then, making her laugh and agree in jest. It broke through the growing tension and diverted the attention away from the blushing Cora, who clearly needed a minute to wrap her head around everything.

"Well, I don't know how much more she can age without needing to apply for a senior citizen card," Robert joined in on teasing his sister, allowing Cora a moment of reprieve just as the waiter finally came to get his order and serve the others.

.::.

Dinner with the Crawleys and Mr. Painswick was not that bad, after all. When they got through that initial discomfort of seeing each other after what had transpired the day before and then the awkwardness that followed at Robert's lowkey unhinged request, the dinner went underway and turned out to be great. She found that outside of work, Rosamund was funny and completely pleasant, even if she had the propensity to voice out complaints. Cora did not hold it against her, and could understand her completely, there was much to complain about in this world. Duke was easy-going, seemingly enjoying his wife's quips, whatever they were, and he seemed to have a great time teasing her. Robert, too, was pleasant, if a little distant, but that was to be expected.

It wouldn't be her, but whoever it was, one lucky girl would become a part of this harmonious group. She could almost envy such a girl, if they existed. But again, it was not her place.

The night got late, and before she knew it, it was time to go. Rosamund insisted on covering the bill, even when Cora said she would pay hers.

"Consider it part of my apology," she said with a smile before snatching the bill and paying it. Cora couldn't even get a word of complaint out before Rosamund whipped out her card.

She would have said that it was all good. There was nothing to apologize for, and if anyone had done anything wrong here, it was her. If Cora hadn't fucked up, Rosamund wouldn't have to deal with the repercussions. She wouldn't have to suggest something so crazy just to get them all out of it. Cora felt sorry, once more, the regret at her own recklessness coming back in spades. This was a failure of her own doing, and she cannot forgive herself for not just the wasted opportunity, but also the trouble she brought to the people who didn't deserve the mess. But the Crawleys were kind to her and had left her off the hook with barely a slap on the wrist and a farewell dinner.

In the end, they'd both shown more grace and kindness than Cora could ever hope for or imagine. When they'd bid her farewell that night, she had thought that it was the end of it.

Except, it wasn't.

She had resigned herself to the idea that she would be going back to the United States, dreading very much the prospect of her mother's long winded dressing down of all her bad decisions , and some more lectures of how she'd told Cora so, if only Cora had listened. Cora anticipated a long conversation with her therapist afterwards, and made a mental note of making an appointment the day after she made it back home.

So resigned was she that she'd thrown herself in packing up her stuff, giving away the things she was certain she wouldn't need or want. She also did what she could for her job, knowing there were a lot of things she would be leaving behind uncompleted, but such was her life and she couldn't do much more in her last week in England than she wanted.

See, she was: resigned. She accepted her fate with much grousing and raging with herself as she could, as silently as she could. There was no one to blame, and even if there was, it was only her, and the past is the past, much that she couldn't really change.

Then a call came, a few days after that dinner with the Crawleys. The call came on her phone when she was least expecting it.

It was odd. She'd never thought it would, never in her wildest imaginations did she think it ever would. At first she'd been confused. The number flashing on her screen was not one she knew or was familiar with, and she'd thought long and hard before she pressed her thumb on the little screen of her IPhone , and slid to the right to take the call.

The voice that greeted her that evening would have made her fall on her knees if she wasn't already sitting down.

"Hello, Miss Levinson?" the person asked on the other line, the voice way too familiar to her than she cared to admit. Her heart jumped on her throat, and her tongue felt like sandpaper. Did she even know how to speak? No, she forgot. "Hello?"

The words, repeated slowly as if trying to gauge if she was there, jolted her back to reality. She jumped slightly and yelped when she almost fell over in her chair. Clearing her throat, she straightened, though for naught, since he couldn't really see her.

"Hello," came her voice, low and soft, and she wondered briefly if the other person heard her. "This is um, this is she." Her words came out stammered, bumbling foolish idiot that she was. She cleared her throat again. "Who's this?" Now that just sounded impolite.

"Hello, this is Robert Crawley," came the dignified response, and what a picture Cora must paint by being like this. He – so cool and so unaffected – could probably hear and see through the phone how awkward Cora was being.

"Hi," she greeted. Fool. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Cora ! Her mind screamed at her. Why was she acting so strange? And why was she overanalyzing every fucking syllable that tumbled out of her lips?

She heard some rustling in the background before his voice came back on again. "I was wondering if we could talk," he said.

"How did you get my number?" was her response. She had been curious, not at all vexed, but the way that her question came out sounded a little off, even to her ears. She was just at a loss as to the means of him procuring her number was all. She didn't have that many complaints about it – and why, she asked herself, must she feel that way…she would never really know.

"I'm sorry, I had asked my assistant, Mr. Bates, ask Gwen, your office secretary?" he answered, and then rushed to say, "I apologize if I'm stepping too terribly all over your privacy, Miss Levinson, but I was trying to contact you so I might be able to speak to you."

Cora's heart lurched, despite herself. She wasn't sure why, just as she wasn't sure what he wanted to talk about.

"Ah," Cora replied, unable to find words to respond to that with. She shifted in her seat and tucked her legs under her on the couch. Around her was pure chaos, piles and piles of her clothes covering her floor almost entirely, the luggage she was trying not to overfill, gaping open – she'd been in the middle of packing when he called her. She surveyed her living room as she waited for Robert to speak, but it seemed as if he was waiting for her to speak. " So what –"

" I just wanted to —"

They spoke at the same time, their words a jumbled mess between their telephone lines.

Cora shifted again, Robert cleared his throat.

"You first," they said at the same time. Then something glorious touched Cora's ears, and it was Robert's soft chuckled as he laughed at the pair of them – such fools they were. Cora felt the corners of her mouth tug upwards, and she had to press the fingers on her free hand to her lips so she might try and suppress the girlish giggles that threatened to erupt.

"Right, Miss Levinson," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous – to her poor little heart, that is – and Cora felt her breath get trapped inside her lungs as the anticipation built. "I wanted to um.. is it alright if…I could ask you to meet me tomorrow for brunch?"

Her heart dropped somewhere in the abyss of her body that she had no claim to prior knowledge of. She wondered if she was losing her mind. Was Rosamund's insanity a few days ago contagious? She was tempted to ask if this was a joke, and she would have, the words were already at the tip of her tongue, when he spoke again.

"It's nothing formal," he said. He sounded reassuring, though there was a hint of –was that nervousness in his voice? She could hardly tell. "I just wanted to speak to you about uh…well you know."

It felt like they were beating a very dead horse, and she almost felt pity (and frustration). What else was there to say?

"I was wondering if you'd meet me at Grantham Park tomorrow. There's a cafe I like, it's called Daisy's . They have the best scones and cheesecake," he told her as if he wasn't asking her something so out of the ordinary. As if they go on brunches every Saturday and talk about the weather. "They're also very pet friendly, if you…"

"I don't have pets," she said, taking the least odd bit and chewing on it.

"Ah, very well…I uh…do you have an aversion to dogs?" he asked then, as if it's the most important thing in this entire conversation.

Cora's brain was going through a million questions she would rather ask, but she ignored them for now. "No, no, I uh…love dogs," she answered stupidly, like a harebrained teenager who's speaking with her first crush. She ordered herself to get it together.

"That's good," Robert answered simply, his voice gentle. "That's good. I'll bring my dog, if that's okay? I have to walk her, anyway."

The image of Robert walking a dog was a very domestic one, one that she had no business thinking of. She shrugged though he couldn't see it, and said, "Sure, I'd love to meet her."

She could hear his smile through the phone when he answered, "Alright, see you then, Miss Levinson," he said. "10 AM, at Daisy's ."

"Alright, see you," she murmured back, ignoring the way her chest started to become tingly, and her stomach started to constrict pleasantly as she ended the call.

.::.

Isis, his beautiful golden labrador retriever, was not a service dog, not really, but she might as well be the way that Robert was using her as a clutch right now as emotions dared to make itself known to him. This was just brunch, a transaction, albeit non-formal, brunch he had invited one of his employees to. It's no more different if he had called John Bates and Charles Carson in for a casual Saturday meeting. Except, he might be buzzing less with anxiety and anticipation than he were now that he's set to meet Miss Cora Levinson.

Isis circled at his feet while he sat on his chair. His foot tapping must be annoying his dog, too, because she nudged her nose on his leg, causing him to stop. He chuckled, and gave her a pat.

"Alright, smartass," he said jokingly, lovingly, to his pet. Isis had been gifted to him by a friend when she was only two months old, and that's some good few years ago now. Ever since then, it's him and Isis against the world, and he'd been just as happy for it.

Robert checked on his dog, making sure she was alright and that the sun was not bothering her too much – as he had picked a table outside to dine al fresco – before he fished his phone from his pocket. He'd lost the number of times he'd checked on his phone within the past ten minutes that he's been here, and he dared not count, or ask himself why he was so anxious. Perhaps, it's because of the nature of the business he wanted to discuss with Cora.

Yes, it was that, of course, and it was not jitters or eagerness to see the raven-haired beauty again. Raven-haired beau— what he bloody fuck? It wasn't him to be thinking like this, and it was unbecoming of an employer, too. She was so unassuming, and with his thoughts, he felt like such a lecherous cad, taking advantage of her position so he could what? Leer at her.

Really, Robert, he admonished himself.

He ixnayed his thoughts and focused on the subject matter at hand. It was important, after all, that he didn't scare Cora off or that he came off unscrupulous. After their dinner a few days ago, he had a talk with Rosamund and she had explained to him, with emphasis, the importance of Cora staying in the country. Rosamund had said that had there been any other quick way to attain what they needed – which was to get Cora a visa that required her to stay in the Country while it was processing – she would have never suggested marriage. She'd also elaborated on some finer points that Robert had missed while he was stewing in disbelief.

In the end, Robert had thought it best to well…see if they could come up with something to try and salvage the situation. It was sheer desperation that brought him here today.

"Hello," he heard from behind him and he turned, looking at the person to whom that voice belonged, and came face to face with a smiling Cora Levinson. He blinked. For a second, Robert's thoughts left him.

Surprise, perhaps? He didn't care to make the distinction.

He smiled, too, and stood up, as a gentleman would, and offered her a seat. "Hello, Miss Levinson, I hope this is alright," he said, gesturing to their surroundings. "Isis likes being outside better, and I'd hate for her to cause a ruckus if she's kept inside too long." He tilted his head to his dog's direction, watching as Cora's face lit up with a smile.

"Not a problem at all," she said as she watched him. "May I?" She stretched a hand over, allowing Isis to sniff her.

"Of course," Robert said, knowing Isis was a very gentle dog. A very good girl, indeed. The best girl.

Isis had no problem acquainting herself with Cora, very quickly, and Robert watched as Isis laid her head on Cora's palm.

"Awww," Cora cooed. "She's very sweet." Then to the dog, she turned and spoke in a sweet voice, "Hello, sweet girl." She scratched behind Isis' ears. "Hi, Isis, my sweet girl."

Robert felt like a third wheel to his own brunch, and a fleeting thought of googling how to become a dog crossed his mind. He decided it was ridiculous, of course it was, and he cleared his throat instead, trying (and almost failing) to catch Cora's attention.

"Ah yeah," she said as she sat up, as if she was only now realizing that she was on a brunch with him. "Sorry." She smiled sheepishly. "Hi, Mr. Crawley."

He nodded. "I told you, you could call me Robert," he reminded her. "Mr. Crawley makes me sound like your uncle, and I'm not really that much older than you, you realize?"

Her cheeks were stained with a pretty pink color. She looked down on the table and smiled. "Well, alright," she finally said, and Robert had to fight the urge to rejoice. She looked up at him with those haunting blue eyes. "I will call you Robert if you could call me by my name too."

He would protest that it was improper, but that would be hypocritical, considering it was his idea. He nodded and smirked. "And would you tell me your name, Miss Levinson?" he joked, trying to bring levity back in between them, if only to ease his own nerves.

She smirked back and offered him her hand. "Hi, Robert," she said in a semi-whisper. He took her hand and shook it, trying very hard to notice how soft it was. He also tried to ignore the feeling that was ignited in his chest when she finally said his name. "My name's Cora."

He smiled. "Hello, Cora," he greeted back as she pulled her hand away. He tried, again, not to feel the loss too keenly. "It's nice to meet you."

And it was very nice, indeed.

.::.

Initial awkwardness, which she thought (alarmed) was becoming more of a familiarity where Robert was concerned, aside, Cora was having a great time. Brunch was served quickly. A feast of an all English breakfast for him and an avocado toast with poached eggs for her, plus coffee and cakes filled their table. Next to them, Isis was very happy with her puppochino and some dog treats that Daisy's served.

Robert was very clearly skating on the issue that he'd asked her to talk about with, but Cora was happy to let him. She was enjoying herself with light, meaningless conversation with him that told her more of his personality than anything, really. She hated to bring up the topic and cut the meeting short.

"I wish we could have a puppy in the flat," she said without thinking as she gazed at Isis who was ignoring them in favor of her treats. Cora could hardly blame the dog, the food at Daisy's was scrumptious. No wonder it was Robert's favorite.

Her words soon registered though, and she looked up at Robert, cheeks flushing. She would excuse herself, not that she needed to, but Robert spoke before she could.

"It's nice having a pet in the house," he said. "It can get too quiet sometimes when you're alone." He smiled at her. "Have you ever had pets, Miss..uh, Cora?"

She smiled at the slip of tongue. It was a little awkward to be on a first name basis with your boss, or employee in his case. She shook her head in response to his question. "No, My mother wouldn't allow it," she divulged. "She swore she was allergic to cats, and didn't like the idea of a rambunctious dog stomping all over her stuff. So I never had the pleasure of having a pet." She leaned back on her chair and allowed herself to soak up the warmth of the bright sun. "Is Isis your first pet?"

He shook his head at this. "No, I had another one before her. But it was when I was a young lad. I named him Pharoah," he answered, his eyes turning just a bit sad as he told her the story. "He died just before I went to Uni."

"I'm sorry," she whispered sympathetically. She felt his sadness, and did not wish that for him.

He smiled and nodded though. "It's alright," he told her. "It was a long time ago now, and I've grieved his loss." He looked at Isis. "When I lost Pharoah, I never thought I would have another dog, I didn't think I could love another being and be prepared for their loss." He then turned to her. "But I met Isis, and I couldn't help it. I couldn't resist her. And so here we are."

She nodded, understanding his sentiments. She wished she had love far beyond what she knew of it, too. Love and loss were simply intertwined, and to experience both was a privilege that was completely beautiful and devastating at the same time.

"Anyway," Robert continued, sitting up straighter in his seat now, and looking at her with depth and gravity that made her swallow. She was almost scared of what was about to come next.

"I was wondering if I might speak to you about your visa," he opened, making her sigh.

She knew that. And she also knew there wasn't much left to say. "I don't see how we could fix it other than…well, I don't know…I guess just me leaving for America in a few days," she said. "Although, alright, that doesn't fix it, but there is simply no other solution, is there?"

He shook his head. Cora's heart dropped in her stomach.

No.

No, no, no. She could feel her head shaking before he could even speak.

"Miss Levinson," he began, and then caught himself. "Cora…"

No. Absolutely fucking not. She should have known that Rosamund's insanity was contagious.

Was it something in the water? The air? Or the Canapé they'd ordered just now to share? Who infected who? And would there ever be a cure?

"Cora, please listen to me," he begged, his hand flying between them to catch her flailing ones – and when did they start to flail? – in his, tugging until she was leaning forward. His grip was gentle but firm. "Cora."

"No, Robert," she told him. "This is insanity."

"Ros is right, it's the only way," he said. But Cora shook her head.

"If that's the only way, then let's just go no way!" she exclaimed. "Because there is no way I'm agreeing to this insanity!"

He slowly let her go as he leaned back on his chair, his eyes never leaving hers. She wondered what he was thinking. "Don't you want to stay? Didn't you tell my sister once before, during your interview, that you love Downton Designs and would do anything to work there?"

How he even knew what she had said then, she didn't want to know anymore.

She wasn't that desperate to work in Downton.

But she was desperate to prove herself, and that project offered her the opportunity to. God, she hated herself for being wired the way she was, but there was really no helping it. She'd had therapists over the years, to work on herself and maybe change things, yet some things remain the same. She was still the overachieving, overbearing youngest daughter of her father who wanted nothing but to shelter her, and her mother who demanded nothing but perfection from her.

She needed an escape from that life, and she'd ran away here, to London, with every intention of never going back to America if she could help it. She wanted to escape and she did it, but now that was being snatched away from her, right under her nose, and she was just…right here…sitting here and imperviously and passionately spurning a solution to the problem she created herself.

"This is the only way, the quickest way," he said.

She sat opposite him in silence, uncertain of what to say. She didn't think it was a good idea, but she was also not the type to stubbornly stay on the wrong track when someone points out a better one.

The thing was, is this really better?

She didn't know the answer to her own quandaries.

"Cora Levinson, will you marry me?"


A/N: I bet none of you expected me to come back here and write more of this. We'd all be on the same boat, then. But here we are. There will be more, maybe not right away or maybe not soon, but there will be more. Just let me go through my bar prep and pray for me! Also, follow me on tumblr neverendingsourceofmystery so I can shock you all some more. Not that I ever really post anymore, but you know. The author rants there are longer, in case you couldn't get enough of my eloquence! jk. i missed u all.