He spied the early morning through the window of his room, a fire crackling behind him. The day broke drearily with a layer of fog creeping over the grounds. A cover of clouds allowed intermittent rays of light to break through, but otherwise the sky loomed near and the morning light was soft and gray.

Robert sat upon his bed and he peered outside his bedroom window. He watched as the clouds moved across the morning sky, suggesting briefly now and again that the day may turn bright after all. Of course he hoped it would. He really did hope it would.

With a great shaking sigh, he looked from the window and down into his lap where his hands slowly turned the band he held along the tip of his trembling forefinger. He watched the small kiss of tremoring light it caught, a soft oval of yellow on the perfect circle of gold, and he swallowed. It stayed steadfast as he spun it ever so slowly; in spite of any quivering or trembling, the light stayed where it met the gold. He watched it, nearly mesmerized for a moment, before with another deep inhale, he looked again toward his window.

"With this ring ..."

His lips moved over the words silently, and he pressed them together and then out again with a shuddering breath. Then, as if to steady himself, he brushed his thumb over the delicate gold band.

"With this ring …"

...What?

What was it that Travis had said yesterday, so quickly, so hastily that Robert did not understand, didn't catch, didn't follow.

Oh, for goodness sake. He hadn't followed any of it really, and now he found himself sat on the edge of his bed, overlooking the dreary morning sky of his wedding day.

With this ring … with this ring. Oh, with this ring.

Closing his eyes, he felt the smooth band again, the tip of his finger touching it and turning it, imagining how, in only a matter of hours, he'd slide it onto her long white finger.

I thee wed.

"My lord?"

Robert's eyes flew open at the low rumble of Charles's voice, but he did not turn to him. He only hummed shortly as a response to the footman, his finger pressing more tightly to the band.

"I've come to see you ready. You're being drawn a bath now."

"Yes. Thank you," Robert said, now turning his head very slightly in the direction of the footman, but not facing him. His chin was nearly touching his shoulder when at last he pulled in air, tucking the ring into his thick palm.

"You know, Charles …" his voice managed at last. "We've not gotten her a new ring."

Robert heard the quiet behind him, and he lifted his brows, turning more to the man.

"It was my great-grandmother's," he heard himself say. "His Lordship's grandmother's ... The second countess."

Charles's features remained steady and Robert watched him for a moment before turning around again, moving the ring back to his forefinger and talking more to it than the footman who stood inside the door.

"Even the engagement ring. It isn't new." His fingers pressed more firmly against the little gold band, and he exhaled. "It does seem rather … ungrateful, doesn't it? For all she's giving to us."

Still silence. Robert swallowed down the tightness in his throat, and his eyes found the light on the band once again. He turned it, and spun it, the tremble in his fingers now moving behind his ribs.

"The least we could've done is give her her own ring."

He thought of her as he said it, saw her face, her smile, the shine of her eyes, and he felt a strange warmth where the trembling was strongest.

"If I may say so, my lord ... I don't believe Miss Levinson would agree."

Robert held his breath, for only a moment, and then turned upon the bed toward the footman once again.

Charles's thick dark brows twitched in attention. "I'm sure she feels it a great honor to wear what was once worn by the late Lady Grantham. To call it her own." The man moved his brows again, raising them, and then nodded. "A very touching sentiment, my lord. Very touching."

Robert stared at the man, at the sincerity in his pointed gaze, the solemn line of his mouth, and he exhaled.

"I do hope so, Charles. Really," he sighed as he turned back toward the breaking gray glare of the window. The little gold band trembled in his hand, and glimmered in the timid light. "I do."

Everything was rosy-colored. Blushing, and laughing, and nodding, Cora's world was made rosy. The gray light that seeped into the bedroom where she readied was breaking by each single moment; the golden rays that brushed across the grounds seemed to spread into wider strokes as every final detail was set into place, and Cora found herself smiling. Happily. For the first time in weeks, Cora felt sweetly and unadulteratedly happy.

With Aunt Ruth cooing loving compliments over her shoulder, with GranMary and her childhood maids nodding approvingly at Cora's reflection in her mirror, and with Mother grinning proudly at her - and she was grinning so very proudly - Cora felt every mark that the past year had left on her heart begin to align, etching out with every beat, an arrow that could only lead to one thing: Robert.

And yes he was a fortune hunter, and yes she might always love his title more than he'd ever love her, and yes their marriage may always be one that others would raise a brow at, but none of that really seemed to matter, funnily enough. Not now.

For she was happy.

Anxiousness teemed in her belly - a certain fear, absolutely, but more than that was the fear of how very eager she felt. Oh, but she was eager! Flutters of butterflies flapped inside of her each time she spied the green cover of the book which rested on the bedside table, the tender pencil stroke of her name echoing around in her mind, as if he had whispered the words to her and not only dogeared a page. It didn't matter that he hadn't said them; somehow Cora knew him, understood him, and what he'd done meant more to her than any declaration of love. It was a promise.

Cora let out a shaky breath, and she smiled into its release, bringing her eyes up to Lady Rosamund's Parisian maid who bit her thin lip in concentration, touching with delicate finality the curls at the top of Cora's forehead.

"Ah, mademoiselle," she sang, "but your hair is so lovely."

The chorus of appreciative sounds from behind her caused Cora to turn her chin, and she peered at her profile in the mirror. Her dark locks looked soft, full, and were thickly pinned in various twists and curls, just as Mother had described. The clipped picture from McCall's Magazine Mother had managed to smuggle from home was still propped against the silver box on the table, testament to the maid's talent.

"Yes, pretty Cora," Aunt Ruth whispered warmly. "So very, very lovely."

"And now the tiara before we finish with the dress?"

GranMary stood from the settee and came nearer the maid, everyone watching closely as Landry opened the box which held the glimmering piece. It sat there in all its glory, the token of a battle fought between she and her mother, and Cora felt her lips curl at it.

It was simple, really: platinum setting, small diamonds and filigree rising up in a series of graduated points, ornamented with the diamonds throughout. And at the top of each point, a pearl.

Her mother had argued for the other, still packed away in the velvet-lined case it had come in - carats and carats of diamonds, twinkling like stars, seemingly indistinguishable from one another and heavy on her head. But Cora had liked this one best, the simpler one, the one that she felt suited her so much more than any of the other ostentatious ones her mother had chosen. Cora had fought for it, and won.

"Oui, madame. Of course."

The tiara was gently passed from Landry to Mother to the French maid. Moving slowly and carefully watching her actions in the mirror, the tiara was then placed with perfection atop the mass of loose curls. The maid stepped back, the other women inspected the final product, and then her family clapped their soft hands in approval behind her, the maids even joining in.

Cora rolled her eyes at the noise, and smiled.

"And we'll easily attach the veil here, with these pins." Landry was leaning down over Lady Rosamund's maid's shoulder, pointing near the bottom of the tiara.

"Yes! Easily enough," Mother agreed. "But now it is time to dress or she'll be late!"

Cora felt herself lift from the stool of the vanity, the silken robe the only warmth between her underwear and the cold of the room. She stood still as there was suddenly a busy scurrying in the room and she let her eyes go to the wedding gown. Her wedding gown.

Her heart quickened at the shimmer of the white, silk and satin skirts that rustled as her maids worked to straighten them, to ready them to be worn. She watched as Taylor smoothed the trimming of the deep neckline of the off-shoulder cut bodice, the Chantilly lace seeming infinitely more delicate beneath her maid's fingers, the floral motif small and fine. The train was smoothed as well, all nine feet of the thing, Landry straightening it upon the floor, smiling as she worked. Everything around her was glimmering, smiling, happy - even the small sewn pearls clustered along the scalloped corners of the train's length glimmered in the light of the windows, their matching designs twinkling on the breast of the gown. And in Cora's periphery, hanging from the armoire in a breathy ethereal line, was her thin tulle veil, long - so very long - and light, waiting to be the final touch. Waiting to be drawn over her face as she was given away to Robert.

"Here it is, Miss," Landry was smiling behind her now, and Cora turned to the sound. Her maid was holding the new corset bought for the occasion, pearly white with its lace, at the fastenings and edges, matching her gown's.

Cora thanked her with only a nod and untied her dressing gown herself, her body instantly prickling at February's cold that bit at the room, the fairness of her exposed skin pinking like everything else around her.

'Round came the steel-boned corset and Landry's practiced fingers pulled the lacings tight, jerking Cora slightly backwards, her feet forgetting to anchor themselves to where she stood. All eyes of the room went to her and Cora suddenly and inexplicably laughed, twice, the sound falling away from her lips in nervous bounces.

"Cora?"

She clenched her jaw and ignored her mother's voice, pressing her hands to the hard, white silk of the corset as Landry worked. She noticed, a bit surprised, that her fingers trembled as she spread them over the starched fabric, the excitement she'd felt to have it ordered whilst in France still woven in the bindings.

It had been made especially for today, and some fairy tale corner of her mind had let herself imagine, as the man and his assistants had measured her small frame, that Robert would be smiling down at her as he unlaced her tonight, a glow of candles warming the white of the fabric into an ivory-gold. The chiffon and smooth silk of her wedding night's ensemble, the one she'd blushed over in the French shop while her mother chattered on about telegramming Father to wire more cash, stayed folded neatly on her pillows, a blue ribbon tying it all together with a bow.

At the sight of it, she said a quick, silent prayer that Robert would like it, that the embarrassment of before would be outshone by the sacredness of their new marriage, that she'd please him . . . and that it wouldn't hurt.

Oh! But how could it hurt? How could it possibly hurt when she felt so very happy for it to happen again, really happen again, but properly. The way it should. The feel of him against her, the weight of him atop of her, the way his forehead had dropped to her shoulder, her lips brushing the lobe of his ear -

"Cora?"

She felt her cheeks grow warm at her trail of thoughts, and she lifted her eyes slightly, smiling at Landry before looking to her mother's reflection in the mirror.

"Are you alright?"

Cora turned to her mother now that Landry was finished, and she pulled in a deep breath as Taylor and the French maid walked to her, her dress in their hands.

She laughed. Her wedding dress. Wedding dress.

She laughed again, breathy, jittery laughter.

"Cora? You're sure you're…"

"Yes," she managed, the word choked with nerves. Happy, happy nerves. "Yes, Mother. I'm all right."

People. Their people. Everywhere. Everywhere. Lining the streets, looking from windows, children standing in horseless wagons, waving the blue and red Grantham flag. They were everywhere.

Of course he knew they would be. They had done the same for Rosamund's wedding, after all; and he very well knew they'd turn out in even greater flocks to see their future Lord of the land be wed to their future Lady. The newspaper had promised it a sight to be seen, the beautiful foreign heiress and the tall heir to the Earldom. And he supposed it would be...but it was the sight of it all that made him remember that there was sometimes quite a difference in knowing that something will happen, and seeing it unfold. And it was indeed unfolding.

Robert watched with widened eyes from the carriage window at the masses of people gathered, cheering and applauding in spite of the cold outside as he and his parents passed them by.

His heart jumped around wildly at the sight, and he thought that he'd feel rather excited if he weren't so nervous over it all. For this was it - this was how they'd begin their life together, to the cheers of hundreds of people, celebrating their union. A union he had worried over for the past six months - no, the past year.

He knew that in a little over an hour's time, the celebration would continue at their wedding breakfast. The tenants would unhitch the horses pulling he and Cora's carriage, and pull it themselves from the gate of Downton to the door. It was a sign of respect, a sign of his position, both of their positions, he realized, as he was making Cora his wife.

Wife. This was it. She'd really be his wife.

His eyes now aching, he pressed them, easing their exertion. He suddenly felt rather ill, his stomach turning over itself, tugging itself into knots. Delightful little knots.

"Robert?"

He pulled in a breath and lifted his brows, peering up at his mother across from him, his father beside her. The soft white ostrich feathers of Mama's creamy-colored hat skimmed the roof of the coach, and for some reason, Robert found himself worried the tiny ends of the soft plumes would fluff and fray.

"Are you quite alright?"

He didn't trust his voice, so he looked at both of his parents and nodded instead.

Mama seemed satisfied at that and tugged up the corners of her lips back at him. It was a forced sort of awkward grin, uncomfortable, but Robert knew and understood the sentiment, and was grateful. He attempted to grin back at her, but it came out as just a twitching of his cheeks.

"Good," she added after a moment. "And I must say you look very smart. If nothing else comes of it all, we can at least be sure of attractive photographs."

Robert rolled his head back to the window at the dance of his mother's self-amused laugh, his stomach settling a bit at her levity.

"Violet."

"What? I do mean it. They're both very attractive people."

Everyone outside was still cheering. They were all standing in the cold, waving their flags, laughing and applauding.

Robert lifted his chin to relieve the tightness in his throat. His parents, however, continued on, speaking to one another, going through the list of things they had to still accomplish before the day was through.

"...and everything's arranged for the return, yes? Were the flowers brought to the carriage? And the white fox fur blank-"

"Yes. Walters ensured the flowers and the throw were brought down. Though, I'm not sure they'll need the blanket now; it seems to be clearing nicely."

Robert brought his eyes to the sky as his parents spoke, above the heads of the happy crowd, and to the few remaining wisps of white cloud. They grew thinner and thinner by the minute, and the blue of the sky was clear and bright.

At his next thought, at the realization that when he saw the color of the sky, he pictured her - saw Cora's eyes - he leaned into his hand and brushed his fingers across his face.

It fell quiet in the coach. The sounds of cheering were somehow muted, muffled now outside the glass, and Robert stared up at the sky.

"One must never worry over the weather."

His mother's voice seemed far away, and yet strangely intimate, and Robert knew she was speaking to him.

He slowly brought his eyes to her, and found that she, and Papa, were both looking at him, searching him, their blue eyes soft and their brows dipped, slightly.

She spoke again.

"The weather will do as it pleases, regardless of one's attempts at predicting it ... The key, my boy, is to accept the day, whatever it may bring. The snow of an English winter . . . " Her shoulders fell with a breath. "Or the rain of an English summer."

And at Mama's words, Cora's face was clearer in his mind. Shining and laughing, her joy echoing around the greenhouse, rain pittering against the glass, his chest all a-flutter with the joyful sound. And he nodded.

He nodded, looking down into his lap.

"Thank you, Mama." He pulled in a breath. "Papa. Thank you."

Cora snuck a glance at the pearly-faced pocket watch her father produced beside her. So much time had passed between the pink of dawn and now, the blue and gold of midmorning. She clutched at the fur tippet around her shoulders, shielding herself from a gust of freezing wind.

Martha had driven ahead of them, but with Cora's arrival at the church, she had come out to very quickly direct the photographer on which angles the photographs should be taken, the one of just Cora, the one of Cora and the young maids, the one of Cora and her parents … the ones of she and Robert would wait until after the vows, for the happy crowd behind her seemed to know no bounds to their applause and cheers.

It was only Cora, her father, Landry, and a few footman standing outside the doors of the church now, the last of the photographs shot moments before, the bridesmaids having been summoned inside only a few minutes ago. Mother had gone in with them, hurriedly pressing her cheek against Cora's in what was meant to be a kiss, Cora's veil warm between the contact of their skin.

"See you inside. And remember to smile!" Martha had rushed into her ear above the constant sound of cheers, and Cora had nodded, grasping lightly at her mother's wrist as she walked away.

So she stood quietly beside her father and watched at the stillness of the church's facade, but listening to the movement within. It was quite like her, she thought, all stillness on the surface, but all flittering behind her ribs. A swan's smooth glide above the water, her feet kicking madly below.

She forced in a long breath through parted lips, her veil pressing to them, and she swallowed. Landry came to her then, with a nod, and she made work to untie the laces of the tippet beneath her veil, making Cora shudder in the cold warmth of the bright sunshine that now poured around them. Her maid then fixed her bouquet of lilies and orchids in her arm, untangled the tulle of her veil, and helped her to angle her elbow so that the flowers draped just so, and then quietly smiled amongst the sound of the crowd's happiness, going inside the church where she'd wait at the entrance to straighten the train of Cora's dress.

Everyone had a plan today, and everyone seemed to be executing it perfectly. But Cora felt as if she were just bouncing from one moment to the next. It felt as if she were in a long, glowing tunnel, a strange sense of not being able to see around her clearly; it was all bright light, laughter, and hurrying people, touching her and readying her, and they seemed to move in a fluid blur. Like a dream.

She could hear the music inside the church, the organ, the young boy choir's voices rising to the rafters clear and sweet, and beside her, quite distinctly, the click of her father's pocket watch snapping closed.

"It's time."

Cora brought her eyes to his face, the circles beneath his eyes and the deepened lines of his forehead, and she worked down the sudden knot of nerves that strangled her. She pulled her lips into a tight smile and nodded at him, walking beside him toward the doors, toward the change in music, the poke of Landry's head between the attentive footmen and her happy little grin.

The wind tickled at her skirts and her veil fluttered around her as they took six short steps to the church. Father opened the door further for her, Landry stepped aside and helped her step up, footmen inside the church closed the doors after her, and she stood at the back of the church watching as two of the bridesmaids walked ahead of her, the rest of them all in formation, and waiting.

Landry pulled at the back of her gown, someone else - a maid she didn't know - straightened the tulle of her veil again, and lightly touched her arm, guiding her to stand near the right so that her father could stand beside her.

The music swelled and the children's voices went higher into the sunlit eaves of the church.

Cora was vaguely aware of smiling at Landry as she nodded toward her, and she was vaguely aware of lifting her hand so that her father could take it, though when the warmth of this glove met her skin, it surprised her nonetheless.

She brought her eyes to his again, and when she found that he looked forward, looked above the heads of the bridesmaids going down the aisle, when she found that Father looked to Robert - she looked to him as well.

Robert, who stood facing the bishop and Reverend Travis, his shoulders straight and broad in his red Grenadier Guards coat, his chestnut curls tickling at the collar. Robert, standing tall and grand, but his hand balling tightly and then falling limply at his side, clenching at his nerves. The hand that had written her name...

"He doesn't love you." Cora tore her eyes from his hand and looked at her father's which held her own, listening to his words. "I'm giving you away to a man who does not love you."

Another change of music, and Cora looked up again. The congregation was rising; her heart beat too wildly in her chest, and her father's hand gripped hers more firmly, urging her forward. To Robert.

What he said, what her father had said, didn't seem to matter. It didn't matter as she lifted her chin. As she moved down the aisle. Her head felt light, the corners of her lips gently aching with her small grin, and her cheeks burning sweetly from the attention of the pews of people looking at her as slowly, very slowly, her father escorted her down the aisle. And her heart … it raced, raced toward him, toward where he stood and waited for her.

Where Robert waited for her.

The door had opened, the music had swelled and changed, the old wooden pews croaked as the entire congregation rose for her. For Cora.

Cora was walking down the aisle.

He felt his face blanch at the realization, every drop of blood falling suddenly to his feet, leaving his head light, dangerously light, and dizzy.

James stood beside him, and though Robert's eyes held fastened to the old bishop who stood before him, he sensed as James turned slightly, his chin moving toward his left shoulder and back over to where Robert knew Cora was.

He wanted to push him, when James smiled teasingly at Robert then, he wanted to push his cousin from beside him, much like a child who would fuss "no fair!" when his friend got something that he wanted.

But he didn't. He only eyed James's gleeful smirk, and furrowed his brows at his cousin, leaning toward him as the music played on.

"Is she smiling?"

James turned again at Robert's whisper and Robert suddenly felt too tempted, much, much too tempted, not to turn as well.

"You mustn't look!" James hissed happily to him.

"James -"

"I gave her mother the book, Robert. I put it into her hands. You needn't worry." James leaned away, glanced behind him, and then Robert watched him lift his chin toward the altar once more, Rev Travis now looking at both of them severely.

Robert, however, whispered once more, "You haven't answered my question." And turning, slowly, his head heavy and his neck suddenly taut, he turned away from James and over his own left shoulder, searching the stone church for her. For…

Cora.

She was there. All white, glowing, the very air around her made brighter by her existence. She was nearly to them now, stepping slowly in time with her father, but her eyes, Robert saw, were steady on him.

He turned quickly around. He cleared his throat, lifted his chin, his collar tight. James laughed once beside him and Robert's own voice echoed the sound. His heart was in his throat, beating and laughing as well, and he tried to pull in a sobering breath.

She was smiling. Oh, thank God. She was smiling.

She watched as he turned quickly back toward the altar, and she felt her lips spread into a fuller smile. She didn't care who saw it or what they thought. She smiled, her chest warming the closer she walked to Robert.

Until at last, the music stopped, and she was there. Standing beside him.

The bishop began to speak, Reverend Travis at his side, but Cora did not listen to the words. She could hear them, but could not listen, for her heart was only listening for Robert at her side. And she could feel that he listened for her as well.

She shifted her eyes to him, looking at him from the corner of her vision, the tulle of her veil softening the edges of his body. She saw his chin turn in toward her slightly, the length of his lashes moving downward, making it clear that he looked for her.

She could feel nervous laughter bubbling up to her lips, so she drew them in and pressed them down, biting at her smile. Robert, she could tell, did similarly.

There was quiet throughout the church when Cora listened again, and when a respectable amount of time had passed, the bishop then looked at her and Robert, lifting his great white brows.

"I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgement when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it. For be ye well assured, that so many as are coupled together otherwise than God's word doth allow are not joined together by God; neither is their Matrimony lawful."

Quiet, again, quiet in which Robert turned his head slightly more toward her than before, and Cora found herself looking up at him. And then, as if they had planned to do so, they both looked away and back up at the bishop, lifting their chins, squaring their shoulders.

The bishop smiled, and nodding once, looked then to Robert.

"Robert, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together according to God's law in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health? And, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

Robert's voice was strong. And clear. "I will."

And Cora held her breath when the bishop then turned to her. Robert, she noticed, peered to her as well.

"Cora." She pulled in more air, and listened. "Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

She felt her head nod and, swallowing, she tried to say it just as strongly, just as clearly. But it came out small, and soft.

"I will."

"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?"

He watched as Mr Levinson moved slowly away from Cora, his thick, gloved hand leaving her own after placing it in Robert's. He noticed the lingering glance Mr Levinson held on his daughter, the slow blink of his gray eyes on her dark curls, and Robert immediately felt heavier. Heavier, and yet also, taller, as if the small weight of her hand lifted him and sank him all at once.

"Robert."

Reverend Travis spoke now, and it startled Robert. He looked at him and blinked, Cora's hand still in his own.

"Take Cora's right hand in your own and say as follows."

Robert nodded and he looked down at their hands, and he stared, his mind completely going blank for a moment which was the right and which was the left. But Cora's obviously did not. With a small shift of her hand from his own, she replaced it with her right, peering up at him beneath her veil.

He thought for a moment he'd smile, but he nodded instead...unsure to what exactly.

And then, the bishop began to speak. "I, Robert, take thee, Cora …"

He was supposed to repeat those words. He was supposed to repeat those words, he forced his brain to remember, he forced his tongue to do as bid.

He cleared his throat. "I, Robert, take thee, Cora…"

"...to my wedded wife…"

Oh. More. "To my wedded … wife."

She was watching him. Her eyes were on him and she was looking at him, her face fair and young and hopeful and he … he … oh. Oh, God, he ….

"...to have and to hold from this day forward..."

These words he was repeating, he felt them. He felt every one of them move through him as they fell from his lips.

"For better, for worse…"

"...for richer, for poorer..."

"For richer, for poorer…"

"...in sickness and in health…"

Where he once worried that these words would feel hollow, that they'd feel empty and sinful as he said them to her, Cora looking up at him with her lovely, lovely face...they...they didn't.

"...to love and to cherish…"

They felt anything but hollow.

"To love and to cherish. Till death do us part."