A/N: Hello readers! So I have been working on this story for quite a while and it is finally time to release it out into the Downton universe. I do hope you all enjoy it.

The story was originally inspired by Violet's line in the series two Christmas Special: "mais ou sont les neiges d'antan," and it just grew from there. The story will be fourteen chapters in all. Not all the chapters will verge into M-rated territory, but the rating is there just to be safe. So, without further ado...

December 25th, 1919

The Crawley family was encamped in the library, piles of gifts all around them. There was discarded wrapping paper and half drained glasses of champagne discarded on various tables and everyone was busily inspecting their presents or distributing them to the other guests. Robert wandered over to his mother, who was standing by the settee inspecting her awful nutcracker from Isobel, and they both eyed Rosamund worriedly.

"How do you know him?" Robert inquired of his mother, as they discussed Rosamund's latest interest. Lord Hepworth would be arriving late the next evening.

"I knew his father in the late sixties," she replied. "Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?"

Later that evening, Robert sat in bed, chuckling to himself as he remembered his mother's words from earlier that day. Cora looked over and raised her eyebrows curiously. It had been a trying few months, and with Bates' trial looming over the house, hearing Robert chuckle was a rare occurrence.

"What has you in stitches over there?" Cora asked, as she crawled into bed beside him.

"Oh, nothing," Robert murmured, still smiling to himself.

"Well, now you must tell me," Cora replied, taking in his amused expression.

"If you insist. It was something Mama said earlier: Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan."

"Darling, you know my French is not what it should be," Cora giggled, her face twisting in slight confusion at his poorly delivered French expression.

Robert only rolled his eyes in jest, leaning closer to his wife. "It means 'but where are the snows of yesteryear?'" He explained. And it just had me thinking about that one winter—

"Oh, God!" Cora began laughing, her giggles interrupting whatever he was going to say next. "Darling, you very well know we agreed never to discuss that 'yesteryear' ever again."

"Yes, yes I know. And I shall not mention it again," he agreed as Cora settled against his chest. They both chuckled quietly once more before Robert reached over to click off their bedroom light. Soon, they were both asleep, memories and dreams of that ill fated winter so many years ago swirling in both their minds.

January 31st, 1892

The house was set up for a party, and a grand one at that. The dining room was bathed in the soft candlelight that could only be achieved with the use of dozens of candles all flickering in unison and each place setting had been measured with care and decorated with the most delicate china. In the library, there was holly draped with perfect precision over the doorway to mark the winter season and a large pile of neatly wrapped presents in the corner; beside a table covered with unopened bottles of scotch, brandy and port that were all waiting to be consumed.

Violet Crawley had overseen every detail and worked painstakingly to ensure it would be a most perfect evening. After all, it was her only daughter's twenty-fifth birthday. Anything less than perfection just would not do. Rosamund had gone along with the plans for a large party at her childhood home but she did insist on being allowed to at least invite some friends from London. Violet certainly did not approve her "modern London friends," as she always referred to them, but thought it would be easier than doing battle with Rosamund—who was nearly as stubborn as her parents. So, beside the minor disagreement about the guest list, the planning had gone off without a hitch until the very day of the party. Most unfortunate for Violet, and her grand fete, the storm brewing outside Downton Abbey had very different plans for their evening. Unlike the proverbial storms of tension or anger that often clouded the house, this happened to be a much more literal storm. It had been snowing since early afternoon, rather heavily, and several trees in the distance already looked as though they were about to collapse under the weight of the quickly falling precipitation. The house was warm, thanks to countless fireplaces being lit, but one look out the window would confirm the fact that it was quite horrid weather and most certainly not appropriate for entertaining.

Nevertheless, the house had been decorated for a party and so a party they would have, Violet had insisted. What had been planned as a party for over fifty guests, though, had dwindled to a much more intimate gathering. Not a single neighbor had made it out that evening and anyone coming up from London had gotten stuck en route. So Lady Rosamund Painswick sat, with a rather annoyed expression, in the nearly empty library along with her husband, parents, brother, and sister-in-law. It was most certainly not the wild gathering she had imagined. Taking a look around the room, she decided it was time to admit defeat to Mother Nature and head off to bed—

"Well, this has been a most joyous occasion but I think I shall retire now, Mama."

Rosamund could no longer take the dreadful quiet of the drafty library and was ready to go celebrate privately with her husband—hoping that the day would not be a complete loss, or perhaps open a few of those bottles on the far table and have a celebratory drink. Her and her "guests" had encamped on the settees around the fireplace and, well, they had not been the most energetic guests to begin with. It was a wholly disappointing excuse for a party. But, Mama had insisted and so they had all diligently marched down in their finest party attire to celebrate her special day. But now that evening was turning to night, it was time to throw in the towel.

"Don't you want to at least open your presents?" Cora asked, turning away from the fire with a questioning glance. Cora's eyes were always so bright and inquisitive that it nearly made Rosamund laugh each time Cora's face contorted to express confusion or surprise. Each expression of hers was so utterly American; Rosamund knew it drove her mother up the wall.

"Cora, we do not open birthday gifts in front of an audience like some sort of common performance," Violet interjected with a stern glance. Cora only reddened slightly and turned her attention back to the fire and her husband. After nearly three years in the family she was used to the barbed comments thrown her way, but it still was not easy feeling as though every movement she made was wrong in some way. Thankfully, Robert caught her gaze and offered her an apologetic smile before taking her hand and squeezing it gently.

Cora's comment caught Rosamund's attention, though. The large stack of gifts did look rather exciting; at least more exciting than the night had been thus far. What would be the harm in opening a few gifts?

"Oh, alright. I suppose I will open a few," Rosamund sighed, feigning indifference as she happily sat up from the settee and wandered over to the large pile. Looking at the tags attached, she chose a few haphazardly before returning to her seat with an armful of presents.

Rosamund smirked as her mother rolled her eyes in annoyance at her blatant disregard for her instruction, but her father smiled and nodded his approval as he took a long sip of his port.

"Come now Violet, she should have a bit of fun. She is trapped here celebrating her birthday with us, after all." Her father grinned at her once more and motioned toward a gift at the top of the pile. "From your mother and I," he explained.

Rosamund tore open the box with reckless abandon, her mother watching with abject horror as cream colored wrapping flew all over the floor. Rummaging until finding something at the bottom of the box—an envelope—Rosamund pulled it out and tore it open as well.

She gasped with delight upon reading its contents—"Oh, Papa, Paris? You shouldn't have." She popped up out of her seat once more to embrace her father.

"They've given us three weeks in Paris," Rosamund explained as she sat beside her husband and handed him the card.

"That is very kind, thank you, Sir." Marmaduke Painswick held out his hand to his father in law and nodded gratefully at Lady Grantham as well.

"Have you ever been to Paris, Marmaduke?" Violet inquired, raising her brow slightly in question.

He shook his head before stealing a glance at Rosamund. "No—no, I've never been. My parents did not often have time to travel, what with the business."

"Ah, I see." She replied, though she already knew his answer. "Well, manufacturing is rather hard work, I hear."

Marmaduke only cleared his throat and nodded slightly, handing the card back to Rosamund who rolled her eyes. It was as though her mother was intent on reminding her husband of his less than aristocratic origins at every turn. It did not matter that he had a fortune larger than theirs or that he had grown up in one of the largest townhouses in London. Because he went to work each morning and received money for that work, her mother would always see him as a less that desirable spouse for her titled and well bred daughter.

"Cora and I quite enjoyed Paris, didn't we, Darling?" Robert interjected, looking at his wife, whose eyes were still fixed on the crackling fire.

Cora grinned slightly and agreed as she turned to face the group. The last time they had been to Paris was on their honeymoon. Though it held countless awkward memories of stilted conversations and strained attempts at consummating their union, they did both rather enjoy exploring the city and had been meaning to take another trip there. Even with the awkwardness, she still had fond memories of Robert attempting to speak French at the small boutiques or when he tripped and nearly fell right into the Seine. They had gotten to know each other on that trip, and had started their relationship there. Cora was pulled from her thoughts when she realized her mother in law was staring at her with a slight frown. Cora reddened, realizing she had been gazing off into space, and murmured an apology.

Not wanting to give her mother the opportunity to prod her husband or sister in law with more questions, Rosamund chose another gift randomly from the pile, checking the small card to see whom it was from. "—Ah, this one is from Robert. Well little brother, let's see what you've come up with," she laughed, ripping open the paper.

Beneath the navy wrapping was a large leather-bound novel. Rosamund eyed it curiously before looking up to meet her brother's anticipatory gaze.

"It's a book," he explained, grinning excitedly at his choice. Robert was a notoriously awful gift-giver. He would normally choose novels that only he would like to read, or some other practical gift that no one would necessarily want to receive as a gift. He had been most excited last Christmas to give Cora a new oil lamp, a more modern one, for her bedside table. Rumor around the house was that after that disaster of a gift, Robert had been banished to his dressing room for two days before realizing the error of his ways and returning to the house with a lovely necklace on the third day.

"Robert, I think she can see that," Cora interrupted.

"Right, of course. Well, it's called The White Company. It's by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. You know, he writes those jolly tales about that detective character? Well this is his new novel. You see it's about a prince who is trying to restore order to his kingdom and he goes on a journey—"

"—Thank you, Robert," Rosamund interrupted, politely putting the novel, which she would likely never open, down on the table beside her. Cora smirked knowingly at her and then grinned lovingly at her adorably bookish husband.

"That one is from me, well Robert and I," Cora said, pointing to another gift, this one wrapped much more delicately than Robert's had been. Thankfully, upon opening the large box, Rosamund did not find another book, but instead, a lovely champagne colored tea gown with delicate beads and a far more modern cut than anything her mother ever purchased for her. Cora watched hopefully as she inspected the garment.

"It's gorgeous, thank you, Cora darling." Rosamund grinned at her mother's pained expression—she would no doubt make a comment about the dress's unsuitable style in a few moments. Rosamund chuckled inwardly. Cora had only been a member of the family for three years, but she had learned quickly. Upon marrying Robert, she had arrived at Downton rather quiet and unsure. Rosamund and she had become fast friends, gossiping about various family members and discussing London society for hours on end. It was Rosamund who had first taken Cora shopping, and Rosamund who taught Cora to never take advice on clothing from Violet—lest she end up looking like an expensively clothed, drab, middle-aged woman. Looking down at the gift Cora had chosen for her, Rosamund smiled once more at her young sister in law. She was easing into the family rather well and had been a fast learner these last few years.

After opening a few more gifts from various family members—the contents of which included: several more novels, a frightful necklace and a pair of oddly patterned gloves, Rosamund explained that she was rather tired and suggested that they all turn in for the evening. The four younger guests stood as Lord and Lady Grantham said their goodnights, and Rosamund eyed the group with a wicked expression as soon as her mother had left the room. Finally, it was time to have a real gathering.

"Now we can celebrate properly," she laughed, rushing over to break open one of the bottles of champagne.

Cora giggled nervously, knowing that Rosamund's antics nearly always got them into trouble, but when Marmaduke and Robert both shrugged and took a glass from the table, Cora only pursed her lips and took a glass as well.

"I propose a toast," Robert began. "To my lovely sister. I hope you have the happiest of days, Rosamund."

Rosamund grinned and embraced her brother, only rolling her eyes slightly at his heartfelt speech. The foursome all smiled and clicked their glasses together, toasting to the sister, friend and wife that they were there to celebrate.

Three bottles later, both couples were considerably incapacitated. Robert and Cora were sitting side by side on the larger settee, both staring off into space while discussing the possibility that the room was in fact spinning. Rosamund on the other hand, had sprawled out on the other settee and was lying across her husband, who handled his liquor a bit better, and was chuckling quietly at the other three guests.

"Do you really have to go tomorrow?" Cora asked, finally settling her gaze from the ceiling back to Rosamund and Marmaduke.

Rosamund nodded clumsily and moved to sit up. "Yes, we must get back to London. You see spending more than twenty four hours at Downton always gives me a dreadful headache!" Rosamund and Robert dissolved into childish giggles as Cora confusedly shrugged her shoulders and leaned against her husband, awkwardly reaching her hand inside his jacket and running her fingers across his chest. .

"We really must go, though—" Marmaduke explained, "I have to be back to work tomorrow and we would hate to outstay our welcome." Rosamund nodded once more in agreement and drained the last of her champagne. Looking at her two incapacitated guests and tired husband, she stood, finally, and motioned toward the door.

"I suppose it is time to call it a night, Crawleys." Rosamund giggled at her own joke and reached for her husband's hand.

Robert sighed in agreement and stood, holding his hand out for his wife to take. Cora, though, was more than a bit tipsy, and she only looked up at him with a slightly dazed smile. Robert rolled his eyes playfully and reached down to scoop her up into his arms, pressing a kiss to her neck as they headed toward the door.

But as they walked by the large windows of the library, Cora tugged on Robert's jacket, motioning for him to stop. "Robert—look." Cora pointed toward the window to the far left, and the four of them all raised their eyebrows in surprise. Thick white snow was falling heavily and it looked as though there was nearly a foot of it already accumulated outside the window.

"It looks like you two might be stuck here," Robert chuckled loudly, stealing a glance at his sister and brother in law, who were both eyeing the snow worriedly.

"Don't count on it," Rosamund retorted, looking at her husband for assurance. Marmaduke remained quiet, though, and only shrugged his shoulders.

"We'll see in the morning," Robert finally replied, adjusting his grip on Cora as they all left the library and walked toward the stairs.

Bidding each other a good night at the top of the staircase, Robert and Cora watched as the birthday girl and her husband stumbled slightly down the hallway toward their bedroom. Grinning wickedly at his own wife, Robert clicked open the door to their room and made quite sure it was locked once they were inside. It was rather late in the evening and all the servants had been dismissed for the night, so they were left to fend for themselves. Robert set Cora down on the bed before sitting on the edge to remove his shoes.

Cora, meanwhile, decided that she wanted to have a bit of fun. She had spent the entire night behaving so as not to upset Violet. It was Rosamund's birthday, after all, and so she did not want her mother in law upset with her over some silly breach of etiquette when she could be focusing on Rosamund. So, Cora had sat quietly and held her tongue for most of the evening. But now, she was alone with her husband and she was quite tired of holding her tongue.

Cora managed to sit up on her knees, though the room was spinning ever so slightly, and crawl across the bed to where Robert was sitting. Without warning she began pressing warm kisses to the back of his neck as she clumsily attempted to reach around and undo his shirt buttons. She was not entirely successful, and instead managed to get her hands tangled in the fabric of his clothes. Robert only chuckled and finally turned around to meet his wife's coquettish grin.

"Cora, you should go to bed," Robert whispered, slurring slightly. He was not quite as drunk as his wife, but Robert was admittedly affected by the several drinks he had consumed and, much like Cora, the room still seemed to be spinning slightly. But, Cora was still grinning wickedly at him and made another movement for his shirt buttons. She missed. Her hand instead landed much lowed, and grazed just below the closure of his trousers. Letting out an involuntary groan, Robert stopped protesting and finally gave in. Her touch was his undoing and he finally ripped his own shirt off, letting the buttons fly everywhere as he haphazardly removed his clothing and watched as Cora did the same. Giggling for no apparent reason, Cora threw her dress across the room and they both watched as it flew threw the air and landed on her vanity.

Robert removed the last of his clothing and helped Cora to remove her corset—a task that took the two of them far longer than usual—before pulling her into his embrace and clumsily settling them beneath the blankets atop their bed.

Robert's lips found Cora's and though their movements were slowed by a haze of intoxication and the warmth of the room, their pleasure was audible as Cora murmured soft, unintelligible adorations against Robert's chest and he drew Cora closer, letting his lips trail lower and lower until she gasped and giggled with delight. When Robert finally pushed into her with a satisfied groan, he was absolutely sure the room was indeed spinning, and he had to keep both his arms securely on his wife so as not to lose his balance.

Several minutes later they both collapsed against their tangled sheets, too exhausted to move, save for Cora's roaming hands, which were drawing abstract patterns across Robert's perspiring chest. When her hands finally stilled against him, they clung tightly to one another and murmured their goodnights, soon falling asleep as the storm continued to rage outside their window.