A/N: Hello, all! I've decided to begin a drabble series with prompts taken from ImagineyourOTP on tumblr. Each will be randomly selected and the drabbles will be 500 words or less. I hope to update this three times a week and the schedule will likely be Sunday, Tuesday and Friday. My longer fics are on a bit of a hiatus right now, as I finish my semester at school, and so this will be more of a creative outlet for the time being. I do hope you all like it and if you've any suggestions I'm open to them! So, without further ado...

1. Imagine your OTP eating lunch together in a crowded place, perhaps with their friends. They are unaware of their feelings for each other. Suddenly, Person A's foot accidentally brushes against Person B's, and with a flustered apology, they shrug the incident off. But then, Person B, realizing they liked the feeling, brushes their foot against Person A's on purpose, and soon they find themselves playing an intimate game of footsies.

It was customary, his mother insisted, that she come to Downton to meet the family—and a collection of curious neighbors—before marrying into it. Invitations were sent out and he knew his mother had taken extra care when selecting the luncheon menu, even though she continued to regard the date with a skillfully indifferent sigh.

They had spent only a handful of hours in one another's company.

There was the first ball, where they danced twice and managed a few short conversations.

Then a walk through the park, where he reached out for her arm just as she tripped on an errant pebble. She smiled and declared him her protector, blushing when she realized the boldness of her words. He knew in that moment if he were going to marry then Cora would do quite nicely. He could not promise love, but protection he could manage.

And so in the fashion of a proper courtship they took teas together, danced at more balls and spoke only of the most superficial topics. One did not divest oneself of particulars until after the wedding, his mother insisted.

But now there was to be a luncheon so that he could parade Cora around like the prize he knew his parents, or his father at least, saw her as. The biting guilt buried in the pit of his stomach only grew, making him acutely aware he was supposed to think her that as well.

Luncheon was filled with pointed gazes and questions. If the guests were not peppering his mother with questions about the wedding, then they were making snide remarks about Americans as though his betrothed was not sitting right beside him. Cora kept her composure, eating and answering questions when asked. But being seated so closely to her made him nervous, for he could feel the tension radiating from her body. He shifted in his seat, painfully aware of the lack of space between them and inwardly cursed himself when his foot knocked against Cora's leg. He murmured an apology, but she continued eating, seemingly unaware of his embarrassment.

Robert turned, to hide his blush, and began a conversation with his sister instead. But he was quickly drawn out of his sensible, coherent thoughts when he felt something brush against his leg some time later. Resisting the urge to turn, he continued his conversation with Rosamund until it happened again—and then once more within the span of five minutes.

And then, much to his horror, he felt himself growing hot under the collar in the midst of luncheon. He turned to Cora, but was not even met with her gaze as she was still eating intently. He cursed himself again, for being so stupid as to think her gesture was intentional, but stopped himself mid-internal profanity when he realized her lips were upturned into a faint smile and she, too, had a slight blush painted across her cheek.

It was, as they spoke so eloquently of in novels, a beginning.