His siblings were the worst. A lot of things were 'the worst' in Robert's life, but his siblings were really quite terrible. It would have been bad enough if they had simply been dramatic, but they were dramatic in the loud kind of manner. Their mere presence could pull Robert out of his concentration and so he packed up his books, wrapped up warmly in an expensive blue coat, and walked into town and up the long flight of steps to St. Mary's graveyard. Perhaps it was a bit morbid - it probably was - but he loved sitting there. There was a little bench overlooking town and it felt quiet and spacious, that was, outside of tourist season. Tourists were the worst. 

He had come this long way and turned the corner... only to find that some young lady had the nerve to sit on his bench. Robert's resting scowl turned into a real scowl. He approached and pretended to observe a gravestone with great concentration, very close to the bench. Hopefully that would make her find a more quiet place.

Cordelia muttered a curse at the broken nib of her pen. Then the notebook she was practicing her writing in fell to the ground off her lap and, in a sudden breeze, the ribbon in her hair (which she'd tied up quite lazily this morning) flew away.

"Oh, curse it all!" she cried, thinking she was by herself, but as she looked to see where her ribbon had gone off to, she saw a young man standing close by, holding her ribbon. Blushing, she realized it had probably smacked him right in the face, and so she offered a clumsy curtsy, holding up what she could of her skirts with her left hand.

"Sorry about that, sir. I hate to bother you but..." She gestured sullenly to the ribbon in his hand and to her notebook on the ground. "I find it hard to keep my balance when kneeling in a skirt, especially when one only has a single hand to catch herself with should she fall."

He wasn't exactly holding the ribbon. The ribbon was holding him, for the wind had trapped it in his face, right across his ever increasing scowl. He plucked it off his face, reflecting on why his life was so difficult. Why him!? Then he held it out to her, but 'accidentally' let go of it, hoping she would run after it, and he could claim the bench.

"Oh, pardon me, miss!" he said politely, as it flew away in the wind. "I have two hands, but I'm afraid I'm rather clumsy!"

Cordelia's jaw dropped. What rudeness! Hiking up her skirts as best she could with her left hand, she hurried after the ribbon, only pausing to kick at the stranger's leg. Her boots came to a point at the tip- surely it would hurt him a little if she made contact. 

"Oh dear," she called back as she headed for the ribbon, which had thankfully caught in a thicket not too far away, "I'm afraid I'm a bit 'clumsy' as well!"

"Oof!" Robert knelt down to hold his shin. But when she ran after the ribbon, Robert limped over to the bench and sat his arse down right in the middle. "That wasn't very lady like!" he said with an injured look.

Carefully drawing the ribbon through the thistles of the bush so it wouldn't rip, Cordelia composed herself. Turning back around, she saw the stranger had taken the bench, her notebook was still on the floor, and her broken pen was still spouting ink- right along the bench's seat toward where the stranger was seated.

"I only see need to be polite to those who return the favor," Cordelia replied to the stranger, crossing her arms as the ribbon, held carefully in her left hand, fluttered in the breeze. Her right hand rested limply on her left elbow, inadvertently showing the stranger that it was, in fact, useless.

Robert shifted a little because he did not want the ink to stain his coat. It would be such a hassle to for the servants to get it out and they wouldn't have time to fulfill all his sisters' demands, and then his sisters would be even more annoying. He looked up at the young lady and smiled. "Oh. You found the ribbon."

Caught a little off-guard by the smile the stranger offered, Cordelia paused a few feet before the bench. She realized he'd wanted the bench all to himself, though for what reason, she didn't know nor did she much care. Lifting her dead hand up into the waves of her brown hair, she carefully wrapped her locks around it with her left hand and made a loose tie with the ribbon. It was the best she could do with only one working hand, but she'd been practicing, and surely before 1895 was up, she would be as proficient with her left hand as she once was with both it and her right.

"Who are you?" she asked as she tied up her hair, the breeze blowing single strands of it around her face in an almost ethereal manner.

Damn it. Robert rose, as he had been taught to do when introducing himself, for - damn it - she still looked like a lady. He kept standing right in front of his seat. "Robert Carrington. At your service." Yeah right. "And whom do I have the pleasure to meet?" Yeah right.

Although Cordelia could tell this Robert Carrington's politeness was only due to common courtesy, she still somewhat appreciated that he stood up from his precious bench to greet her. She offered another curtsy, just as awkward as the first one due to her dead hand, and replied, "Cordelia Whitlock. My grandmother is Eve Whitlock, she owns Cedarworth Manor on the other side of the cliffs."

She gestured to her notebook on the ground as the pen's ink stained the bench just where Mr. Carrington had just been seated. "Now, if you don't mind handing me my notebook and my pen, I'll be out of your hair, Mr. Carrington." She said the polite title a little mockingly, as if she didn't believe he deserved the politeness of it (and, indeed, she didn't).