Affairs of the Heart
Prologue
1889
New York, the Levinson residence
She stomped up the stairs, her heels echoing sharply against the wood, and her vision blurred as tears spilled over her cheeks. They were really going to send her away—across the entire ocean, to a place she'd never been, with people she'd never met. She couldn't believe it. They hadn't even asked her if she wanted this. Everything had already been planned, every detail decided without a word from her.
Cora burst into her room, slamming the door behind her, and threw herself onto her king-sized bed, feeling the familiar plush of the covers as she buried her face in her pillow. She tried to hold back, but soon her muffled sobs filled the silence, her shoulders shaking as she let the frustration, anger, and sadness escape.
Downstairs, her parents sat in the cozy green-themed drawing room, a quiet contrast to the turmoil in Cora's room. Isidore sighed deeply, glancing briefly toward the staircase before lowering his gaze to his cufflinks, fiddling with them as he considered his words. He'd known Cora wouldn't take the news well. He wasn't even sure he supported this plan of Martha's. But Martha's ambition had always run high, always a little more determined, and he knew how her dreams had shaped this whole scheme.
"She's heartbroken, you know," Isidore said, still looking down, the corner of his mouth tightening. "I don't know if this is worth it, Martha. Sending her to England just to… secure some cold-hearted lord with a title?" He hesitated, half-hoping his wife would reconsider, though he couldn't bring himself to look her in the eyes. That enchanting, determined smile of hers had a way of making him forget his own concerns, of bending his mind to her plans. "And if she does marry there, what then? When would we see her? Our family would be split up across two continents."
Martha placed her hand on his, calm and firm, her eyes sparkling with a quiet determination. "If she marries some aristocrat, we'll finally be accepted into society. We'll be able to build our legacy further. Don't you want that for our family?" Her words were gentle but held a steady resolve.
He stopped his restless fidgeting and looked her straight in the eyes. "And what about our daughter?" he asked, his voice softer. "Don't you want her to be happy?"
Martha let out a slow sigh, squeezing his hand, her fingers warm and steady against his. "Izzy," she murmured, "I know this isn't easy for either of us. But we'll have to let her go someday, and with her beauty and grace, she could win any man's heart. She deserves someone who can give her everything, don't you think?"
"I'll talk to her, but only if you admit it when you're wrong." She leans back on the cushy sofa and cocked her head. "Good, because I'm never wrong."
Nine weeks later
London, England
Cora adjusted her ivory satin dress for the fifth time that evening, her gloved hands smoothing down the delicate lace trim along the bodice. The dress, chosen meticulously by her mother, had just enough shimmer to catch the light but not enough to be called flashy—a balance, her mother had declared, between elegance and restraint. Cora's dark brown hair was swept up into an intricate arrangement, pinned with small pearl combs that matched the delicate drop earrings she wore, lending her a refined, almost ethereal look. Still, her stomach was doing flips as she took in the grandness of the ballroom around her.
The Earl and Countess of Emberfall certainly knew how to throw a ball. The walls were a soft cream, accented with gilded panels and towering mirrors, each one reflecting the light from the enormous chandeliers that hung above, dripping with crystals that sparkled like starlight. The floor was a polished expanse of marble, so smooth and glossy it nearly intimidated her. Couples moved about gracefully, and Cora was struck by how at ease everyone seemed—perfectly English, perfectly poised, and perfectly indifferent to her American presence.
Her parents had rented a fine town home for the season, nestled within an elegant part of London, all marble steps and wrought-iron railings. While the house was charming, her mother hadn't ceased reminding her that its real value lay in its proximity to important families like the Emberfall's. "With some luck," her mother often hinted, "we'll see you married into a family just as fine or finer."
Cora tried not to let that thought overwhelm her, but she felt her face heat as she caught her mother eyeing her critically from across the room, as though silently urging her to talk to someone—*anyone*—of rank. Her father, on the other hand, stood by the refreshment table with an expression somewhere between amusement and bewilderment, taking in the English social scene as if it were a particularly strange museum exhibit.
Standing next to her, Harold, her nineteen-year-old brother, stifled a laugh as he caught her eye. "You look like you're about to faint, Cora," he teased, nudging her arm. "Careful, these British aristocrats can smell fear."
Cora shot him a glare. "At least I don't look like a complete fool," she hissed back. Harold, who hadn't managed to shed his boisterous mannerisms, was attracting curious looks from several guests as he picked up yet another canapé.
She couldn't help but chuckle, despite her nerves. "You're not exactly helping me blend in here."
"Oh, don't worry. Just follow Mother's plan," Harold said with a mockingly serious expression. "Look charming, find a duke, get married. Easy."
"Easy for you to say," she muttered. She scanned the room and caught a few sideways glances from young women whispering behind their fans, eyeing her with a mix of interest and… was that amusement? She wasn't sure, but it made her more self-conscious. The fact that she was a Jewish American wasn't lost on anyone here, and she could feel it.
"Just be yourself, Cora," her father's voice murmured as he approached them, offering a reassuring smile. "And if anyone gives you trouble, remember—Harold's here to scare them off" He clapped Harold on the back, causing him to stumble slightly, which sent a laugh bubbling up from Cora.
Robert whipped his head towards the sound of animated laughter. His gaze flickered to two men and a young woman standing nearby. The men, well-dressed in dark suits, were chuckling as they exchanged a few witty remarks, clearly enjoying each other's company. The young woman, a striking figure, seemed caught in the middle of the exchange, her sparkling blue eyes lighting up with amusement. She tried to stifle her laughter behind a delicate glove, but the sound still escaped, warm and genuine.
"Good heavens, has no one any good mannerisms these days or are we all supposed to act like complete laughingstocks," His mother pointed with her pink with gold gilded fan to the trio he was looking at. "Patrick do you know who they are?" his father just swallowed his food so he could answer his wife. "They are over from America. The man over there is a wealthy businessman, Mr. Levinson owns dry-goods warehouses all over the colonies, his wife and two children are here to make a match for the daughter." Robert's redhead sister came this his side, obvious interested in the subject she joins the conversation.
"It isn't called the *colonies* for a long time Papa, it isn't the 1750s." Violet Crawley gives her daughter an annoyed look and took her arm. "Rosamund, come and let me present you to Lord Ashbourne, you two will make a fine match."
Robert smirked as he watched his mother dragging a rather reluctant Rosamund toward the old—and, to put it kindly, less-than-dashing—Baron Ashbourne. It was Rosamund's third season, and their mother was determined to get her married off this year, preferably to someone with a title, or at least a good estate. Rosamund, however, had her sights set on someone quite different: Mr. Marmaduke Painswick, a wealthy banker from London. Not only was he well-off, but he was also, to Rosamund's delight, very handsome.
What mystified Robert, however, was how Painswick managed to be utterly smitten with his sister, given how challenging she could be at the best of times. Unfortunately for Rosamund, Mr. Painswick's background fell a bit short. His mother was merely the daughter of a lowly baronet, which hardly qualified him as "good enough" in the eyes of their parents, who saw nobility as more important than their love.
"Lord Downton?"
A female voice made Robert jump, nearly spilling his wine. He turned to find the girl who'd called his name, giving her a slight bow. "Lady Margeret, how lovely to see you," he lied.
Lady Margeret was the eldest daughter of Lord and Lady Emberfall, and, while she was indeed a lovely woman—blonde hair, hazelnut eyes, that sort of thing—her persistence was exhausting. Every ball, every dinner, she was there, trying to claim him, with his parents egging her on. His mother insisted Margeret would be a "good wife" and an "even better wife for him." He'd even considered it; he supposed they'd make a sensible match. Not a love match, certainly, but she could provide him with an heir and, perhaps more importantly, the money to save Downton.
Just as he thought about this, his father hissed from nearby, "Robert!" and nodded toward Margeret, who was smiling at him with an almost predatory gleam in her eye.
"Oh yes." He glanced at his father, sighed inwardly, and turned back to the young woman in front of him. "May I have this dance, Lady Margeret?" he asked, as the orchestra struck up the next song.
"You may," she replied with a blush, placing her hand in his as he led her to the dancefloor.
Robert stood on the balcony, admiring the Emberfalls' impressive view of their grounds. He took a deep breath, grateful for the break from the crowded ballroom he'd just escaped. The distant sound of music floated through the air, reminding him of why he'd slipped away—Margeret had been clingy tonight, angling for a third dance. Honestly, his feet couldn't take more of her enthusiastic waltzing.
Besides, a third dance? Society would practically send out the wedding invitations. Yes, he'd marry her… eventually. After all, there were worse fates than a wife who could secure his future.
"Excuse me, Sir, but may I?" The woman he had noticed earlier this evening gestured toward the space beside him. He smiled and nodded to the American girl. Now that she was standing closer, he was surprised at just how tall she was in those heels. The white dress swished gently across her ankles as she settled beside him. "It's a lovely night, isn't it?" she asked, her accent catching his attention. He had never heard anything quite like it. Her sapphire eyes sparkled in the dim light, and some brown curls had escaped her coiffure, giving her a slightly angelic look.
"Yes, it's absolutely lovely," he replied, still staring at her, perhaps a bit too intently. She blushed at his words. After a moment of awkward silence, she tried to break the ice again.
"So, from whom did you try to escape?"
"W-what?" He blinked at her in confusion, a baffled expression on his face.
"I mean, you're clearly avoiding someone. You wouldn't be out here otherwise. I myself needed to get away from my mother and the men she's trapping with her endless conversations about me. She keeps praising my beauty and my skills. It's just so tiring to be talked *about* instead of *to, don't you think?" She spoke quickly, almost with a bit of urgency.
He had to admit, he couldn't agree more. All his life, people had made decisions for him—he was *the* heir to Downton Abbey, after all. He never had much of a say in anything. "Hmm, mothers, they never change," he said, nodding knowingly.
She laughed, a melodious sound that made him smile. "Yes… So, what's your story?"
"Oh, well," he sighed, "my parents want me to find a *perfect* woman and marry her by the end of the season." She nodded slowly, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face.
"Who are your parents?" she asked, curious.
He froze for a moment, realizing they hadn't even introduced themselves yet. "Oh! How rude of me," he said, suddenly flustered. "The Earl and Countess of Grantham, and I'm Robert Crawley, Viscount Downton, to be precise."
Her expression shifted to slight mortification, and she immediately bobbed into a curtsey. "I'm so sorry, milord. I should've introduced myself. Cora Levinson. How do you do?"
Robert took her gloved hand and kissed it with all the proper charm he could muster. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Levinson."
Her cheeks turned pink again, and she smiled. "Likewise."
At that moment, the door to the balcony swung open, and a middle-aged redhead stormed out toward them. "Cora, I looked everywhere for you! What did I tell you about meeting strange men in the dark?" Mrs. Levinson gave Robert a sharp look, clearly unimpressed, before taking Cora by the arm and pulling her back inside. Cora waved over her shoulder as she was escorted away.
As Robert watched her go, he thought to himself, *This is a woman I could see myself marrying*
Thank you for reading the first part of my new story! I know this idea of Robert and Coar having an affair with each other, has already been used in other amazing stories, but I hope you'll like my version.
Please review! (I'll try to react to every single one of them)
