A/N: So, here's my first Downton Abbey fic. I hope it isn't too rubbish- I don't feel I've done justice to the brilliance of the show, but here you have my feeble attempt at translating the characters onto paper (or, rather, Microsoft word). Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Much to my disappointment, I do not own anything to do with Downton Abbey.

Summer at Downton was always exceedingly beautiful and this one was no exception. The sun's golden rays shone down gently on the grounds, making the house look even more grand than usual. Robert Crawley was sat in the gardens with his wife sat opposite him, while their two eldest girls scampered around happily in the sun and the youngest slept in her mother's arms.

"Must we say out here for long, dear?" Robert asked, squinting beneath his hand.

"No, only for an hour until the children are tired," she replied in a hushed voice as Sybil stirred in her arms. "It does them good to be out in the sun. And perhaps they won't argue so much,"

"An hour! I can think of things I would much rather be doing with my time," he whispered.

"Oh, and what might those things be?" she asked, raising her eye brow. "What could you possibly have to do that's more important than spending time with your wife and children?"

"Something that only involves my wife. Preferably in the bedroom, but outside if it's too hot." He reached across and placed his hand on her warm leg, sliding it upwards…

"Robert Crawley!" she exclaimed as quietly as she could, swatting away his hand. "If I'd have known what sort of 'gentleman' you were I never would have married you. And in front of the children!" she gave him a stern look that was worthy of his mother before dissolving into a fit of laughter. "Later," she promised, kissing his hand.

"I'll hold you to that you know, dear,"

"I have no intentions of letting you down," she giggled, a pretty, rosy hue creeping into her cheeks.

She quickly changed the subject to what she deemed a safer topic, which was, of course, their children. This time it was the new selection of fashionable clothes from London that she'd ordered. Robert tried his hardest to listen, but couldn't help but let his attention drift as she gushed over the quality of the lace until he felt his eyes go heavy.

Peace never lasted long at Downton with three young children, but for an argument to break out only ten minutes after coming outside must have been a record by anyone's standards. Robert started, groaning moodily.

"That's my dolly!" shrieked Edith, toddling after her elder sister. "Tell her to give it back, mummy. You must tell her!" she made to swipe it from Mary's hand, but the older girl held it out of reach, her eyes dancing as a grin enveloped her face. Robert sighed at the sight of them both; Mary was clutching the toy in her chubby little hand with a gleeful expression on her face and Edith was jumping up and down, her fair hair flopping in a wild circle. Robert was immensely grateful his mother wasn't around to witness such behaviour. Anyone would think he had raised them to act like animals, not ladies, from the way they bickered and fought. A quick glance at Cora confirmed what he was thinking.

Not again.

"Mary, come over here for a moment please," called Cora, rolling her eyes.

They both turned to stare at their mother, apparently lost in their argument. Mary looked like a doe caught in the headlights, her eyes all wide with an innocent expression that clearly suggested she had done nothing wrong. All that was missing was a halo and she would have been the very image of an angelic child. Robert would have smiled if he hadn't felt so irritated; Mary might be a naughty little scoundrel, but she at least had the good sense to be clever about it.

"I'm busy, mama." She stated and promptly continued to tease Edith.

"Now," interjected Robert, his voice dangerously low.

She shrugged in the way only children can and trotted over, her chin jutting out defiantly. A black curl had fallen lose from her sunhat and Cora reached out to gently tuck it behind her ear, her words of admonishment already lost in her throat; she was useless wherever the girls were concerned and he could be just as bad.

"Why did you take Edith's doll?"

"I didn't, papa. Edith took it from me first. I was just taking it back," she replied solemnly. Robert stared, finding it remarkable they had provided the girls with a nursery full of toys for them always to be fighting over the same ones.

"Is this true?" he asked, turning to the younger girl who was quickly turning a deep shade of violet.

"No!" she wailed, stamping her feet as her lip began to quiver. Robert exchanged a look with Cora, the latter kissing the top of a sleeping Sybil's hair with a despairing look; if there was one thing parenting had taught them, it was to avoid a full scale tantrum at all costs. He scooped Edith into his arms and pulled her onto his lap, holding her small body close as his chin brushed her hair. An unexpected feeling of love swelled up inside his heart like a balloon.

"I want to make a deal with you, girls. Mary can keep the doll for five more minutes and then you can have it again. I think that's fair."

Mary shrugged again, swiftly darting off inside the house, flying the doll through the air as she went.

"Can my five minutes be longer than Mary's, daddy?" Edith whispered into his ear.

"Only if you promise not to tell her." he whispered back and she giggled as he set her on the ground again. He was relieved to see she was a normal colour now.

"Expertly handled, dear," Cora muttered, making him smile.

"I remember a time when I would have shouted myself hoarse at the pair of them, but frankly I think there's something pleasant about having a quite life,"

She laughed and he reached over and seized her hand, entwining her fingers in his own. He remembered another time then when life wasn't so easy with Cora, when every conversation was painful and strained, but now he couldn't imagine life without her. Without her, Downton would be incomplete, but, more importantly, so would his heart,

Mary returned then, the annoying tendril of hair once again falling in front of her eyes as she carried yet another doll. "Look, mama," she demanded, bounding over to them. "This one is me and the other is Cousin Patrick. We're getting married!"

He felt Cora's grip tighten on his hand. For Mary, her encounters with Patrick had so far been filled with childish games and she had no way of knowing that she just guessed what her own future consisted of. He couldn't feel guilty when he knew it was to secure the future of Downton, but his heart felt for Cora who knew all too well the loneliness of a marriage of convenience. It had turned out well in the end, of course, but there was no guarantee Mary would have the same luck.

"Papa," she said suddenly, her expression thoughtful, looking far older than her five years. "Why did you marry mama?"

"Because-" he couldn't bring himself to say because she had been rich. He felt so ashamed of those reasons now, of how he had treated her in the first few months of their patched up marriage.

"Could you tell a story of how you and mama met, papa?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"I suppose I could," he answered resignedly as Mary crawled onto his lap.

Cora surprised him by speaking first, her eye brow raised, but wearing a faint smile all the same. "It certainly wasn't love at first sight,."

She was right there-

-Robert's very first meeting with his future wife was nothing short of a disaster.

It was 1887 and he had been packed off to London by his mother with one order: not to come back until he has selected a suitable wife for Downton Abbey. By 'suitable', his mother had of course meant rich and respectable. He was willing to do anything to secure Downton's future, but the prospect of finding a wife when he had limited experience in such matters was, to say the least, daunting. Robert couldn't help but feel like he had been locked in a room with no door. A deep frown seized his face; willing he might be, but the thought of finding a young woman and marrying her for her money seemed too dishonest to be honourable.

His eyes swept around the ballroom, taking in the room full of laughing, dancing people. He supposed that if he wanted to return to Downton, it would be a good idea to start his mission of searching for a bride. All the same, he was hardly in the mood for dancing and idle chatting, in spite of the pleasant atmosphere. Until his mother had sprang the idea on him like a cat waiting to pounce, he had never even entertained thoughts of marriage. He wasn't ready to get married, not yet, but his eyes continued to scan the room until they found a loud, young woman who was chatting animatedly to a group of women.

"Cheer up, my friend," one of the men, Peter, from the party who had accompanied him to London nudged him in the ribs, startling him from his miserable reverie. "I for one wouldn't be this miserable if my only order was to find myself a pretty, young lady. Unfortunately, my only sad order is to chaperone my dear sister."

Robert only grunted a reply.

"Have you spotted any ladies to spark your interest yet?"

He chose not to respond, but Peter followed his line of gaze and his eyes fell on the slender young woman in her extravagant dress.

"Ah, I didn't know you had a taste for the exotic, my friend." He smirked. "That's Miss Cora Levinson, our resident American. She's quite rich, or so I've heard,"

All the men in his party knew he had come to London to find a wife to help his family out of the financial mess they were in and they were all too willing to help him if they were not occupied with their own flirtations. They both watched her for a moment; she tilted back her head in merriment, her dark ringlets dancing as they caressed the smooth curve of her shoulders. Her laugh somehow seemed too loud and too spirited for the comparatively dull ballroom. The rest of the women regarded her with mingled looks of curiosity and contempt. How such a tinkling, infectious laugh could ever cause such looks of animosity, Robert could not understand and he turned to Peter, expecting to exchange a look of bewilderment, only to find the same expression on his face.

"Why they bother trying to fit into English society is a mystery to me. Ah, yes, look, there she goes now she's realised the other women don't want her in their company,"

Robert watched her walk away from the others with her eyes trained on the floor. He thought of everything his mother had told him about foreigners and couldn't see how any of the insulting words she had used applied to Miss Levinson, but with everyone listening he could hardly state his own queer view.

"Mama says that it's because they don't know polite society; that they are coarse and unrefined," Robert commented, louder than he had intended. She glanced their way and for a brief moment his eyes were scorched by the fire in hers before she looked away and withdrew into herself.

"I daresay your mother may be right," chuckled Peter.

"I think she might have heard us," said Robert, still staring after Cora.

"So?" and after a pause "You know, I've heard Americans have the most awful dances. You ought to go and ask her, Robert."

The other men agreed with hearty nods. "Yes, Robert, you must!"

"Why me?" he said weakly, a note of pleading lacing his voice.

"Because you are the most dashingly handsome of all of us, Robert. What girl could resist such devilish charms? Why, if I were a woman I should swoon at the very thought of you," he teased. The other six men in his party tittered appreciatively.

"Are you incapable of being serious? I think she heard what we were saying…"

"Don't despair, my friend. She won't refuse you. You have the most impressive title, after all. She wouldn't dare refuse you. One might expect a lady to refuse a lowly villain, but never a famous one!"

"I don't know…"

"Oh Robert, are you always such a bore? This ball is frightfully dreary. Lord knows it needs livening up a little,"

With a reluctant sigh, Robert agreed that the ball so far had been very dull indeed and that a dance might be just the thing to lighten the mood. He managed to break away from the party, nodding politely in the direction of those looking his way and quietly declining the offer of refreshments. He sidled over to the American girl, glancing back to see his fellow men nudging each other; a couple threw encouraging glances his way, but the rest of them were muttering through wry smiles, perhaps exchanging a bet at his expense. He sucked in a gush of air, feeling more nervous than he should. It wasn't as though he hadn't done this before, but there was something terrifying about approaching a young woman he had never met before. Particularly one who looked so… (Beautiful)…interesting. If the rest of the women looked beautiful tonight, then she simply shone.

He studied her as she loitered near the doorway, a little way off from the crowd where people were laughing and dancing without her. A courteous smile strained her lips as she watched in silence, but her eyes were grave. He coughed lightly to announce his presence and she started, as if returning from a distant galaxy where only she existed. That fiery look leapt into her eyes agaih and he was sure then that she must have overheard what propriety would not allow her to respond to, but it was so instantly replaced with a warm glow that he must surely have imagined it. She flashed him what he could only assume was a welcoming smile, encouraging him to approach her. Why then, did he feel like a sailor being lured into the dangerous depths of a roaring ocean by a coquettish siren? He felt his heart beat a little faster as he strode to stand by her. Lord, he had never felt so nervous.

"Good evening. I thought I should introduce myself. I'm Robert Crawley, the son of Lord Grantham," Even in the privacy of his mind, the words sounded exceedingly stupid.

"Yes, I know. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm Miss Cora Levinson,"

"And how are you enjoying the ball?" enquired Robert.

"Oh, very much!" she murmured, unable to prevent him from hearing the hard edge creeping into her voice. For a moment, she paused, her jaw tightening in what could only have been an attempt to think of a topic which held no cause of resentment. "The decorations are really quite splendid."

She had not entirely managed to still the tremor in her voice and her small, white hands were bunched tightly in her dress. The gesture betrayed just how young she was; she was not much more than a girl and certainly not a woman yet, no matter how much she might look like one. Like most of the ladies in the room, this was probably her first season, her first season in a society she likely knew nothing about. Everyone would be scrutinising what she wore, her demeanour, her hair, how she danced and a million and one other things he understood nothing of and all the more so because of her heritage. As a man, particularly one of his stature, Robert had none of these things to deal with and commanded respect without ever having to earn it. Cora must have felt like a child again, taking her first tentative steps in the world. The man in Robert longed to offer her words of reassurance, but the boy in him, the one with the amused men at his back, felt the cruel urge to laugh at her.

In the years to come Robert would be ashamed to say that at this moment the boy in him won out.

"Indeed, but they certainly don't match the splendour of those at Downton," he stated. She dipped her head, training her eyes on the floor. A moment of deafening silence conjured a wall between them and it soon became clear she either did not know how to respond or did not want to.

"Would it not be polite to now enquire about Downton?" he said through a smile.

"It would be polite," she agreed, a spark of electricity exploding behind her eyes as she smiled back. "But we Americans are thought so unrefined it would be even ruder still not to play up to that particular expectation. Now, if you'll excuse me,"

He stared at her, a lump forming in his throat. His voice snagged like a zip. She was turning away from him and he was overcome with a sudden, inexplicable wave of regret. He almost reached out to grab her wrist, but instantly thought better of it.

"No, wait, please! I was- I was just wondering if you'd- you'd care to dance,"

"I understand it is an English custom that a woman ought to be ready for any man who is kind enough to ask her to dance, even if she does not care for the man in question,"

"I believe it is, yes." He proffered his hand and she took it. His thumb brushed the back of her small fingers and a shy smile flitted across her face as she met his eyes. In his chest, his heart thumped with relief; for a moment he had thought that she was going to refuse him.

"Well then, thank heavens I'm a coarse American! I think I might excuse myself without giving any ready cause for offence. I hope you have a pleasant evening with your delightful friends,"

He instinctively dropped her hand before she could snatch it away and she flounced away from him then, her gaudy dress catching every angle of light as it trailed majestically behind her. Robert spluttered indignantly, trying to ignore the roaring laughter of his friends in the background. He clenched his fists as he glared after, watching moodily as she disappeared into the crowd; it was times like these he wished heartily that he was back at Downton.

He and his mama might have clashed on many topics, but they could at least agree on one thing now; those American girls really were extraordinary creatures.

Go Cora! Haha. I know Robert isn't like that, but even young men in the 1800's must have felt some of what is now known as 'peer pressure'. Ignore the random 'Peter' guy. I made him up :') Don't worry, Robert will be apologising in the next chapter. Sorry about the dialogue- I think maybe it's too old fashioned, but I tried. I'm not sure with how this turned out, but I'm sick of twiddling it. In spite of any historical inaccuracies about the social etiquette in this, please review! (: Also, does anyone know what year they met? I guessed, so sorry if it's wrong! (: