Downton Abbey 1. Chapter 1

- Set between the 2nd and the 3rd series, even if it is not important for the fic. -

- No copyright infringement intended, I just borrowed the two of them from Fellowes, who still does not seem to want toproperly use them. What a shame, Julian, really. I'll give them back to you - and maybe also other characters - in a few chapters. -

- For Lavender and Hay, the masterful Captain of the Ship, here and on Tumblr. You rocks! -

"Mrs. Crawley! What are you doing here?"

She lifted her head and looked in front of her in the dark street, barely lightened by few street lamps. The weather was not that bad when she had left the Abbey, there was barely some clouds in the sky, but now it was heavy raining and the road had turned from a country-road into a treacherous quagmire.

"Dr. Clarkson!"

"What are you doing here?" he repeated, quickly approaching her, an amused yet surprised smile on his lips, "It's late and it's raining."

"I was up at the big house and -"

"You were at the Abbey and they let you to go away, alone and in the middle of the night?" there was something in his voice, surely surprise, maybe also indignation and worry, that made her heart flutter with silly happiness.

"Of course not!" she let out a small laugh, "Matthew will never allowed something like that!"

"Then why...?"

"I told the chauffeur that I fancied a walk and he let me down at the beginning of the village," she said, shrugging a little, "So I headed back home but it started raining. And I ended up here, talking with you, in the middle of the street and under the water." Isobel smiled at him, amused by the situation, "What about you?"

"I was working at the hospital, checking the last patients, the last papers... God gracious, Mrs. Crawley, shouldn't we continue this in a drier place? You're soaked, you'll catch the death of you!"

She looked around them, trembling a little, and finally understood completely the absurdity of the situation: there they were, in the middle of the main street, under a heavy rain, both of them without an umbrella, soaked till their bones, and still chatting as they were at the hospital, maybe in his office. She smiled a little: really, she cannot think about another person to be with in such a situation then Richard Clarkson.

Isobel lifted her eyes studying the man in front of her: his clothes were sopping and the end of his brown trousers and his leather shoes were cover with mud. She can imagine she was in the very same conditions. Still, his light hair were almost dry, thanks to the jacket that he was using to protect his head and shoulders, while hers were soaked and the first curls were falling from her modest knot. Clarkson seemed to thing the same thing, because he let out a hand for her.

"Come on."

"What?"

"Mrs. Crawley, I am not letting you under the rain. My jacket may not be the best to keep us from the water, but at least you'll be protected a little until we reached a drier place," his hand moved quickly towards hers, "Come on!"

She took it, smiling gratefully and joining him under the modest shelter of the fabric of the jacket. He was really near her now and Isobel could smell his soft cologne and the faint smell of disinfectant from the hospital, something that was unique him. Again, she smiled at the good doctor, "Here we are."

"Here we are..." he replied a little bit out of breath, but Isobel couldn't tell if it was because of the cold or because of her sudden nearness: needless to say, she hoped it was the second, "What are we going to do?"

Clarkson's low voice took her out of her reveries and she looked at him, blinking twice: their bodies were almost touching, they have never been so close in all the years they have known each another. Of course at the hospital happened to be near, specially during the operations, but not in that way, not in the intimacy that that damp jacket seemed to provide them.

"We should go home, I think." she murmured, leaving her reveries for the second time that evening.

"You're right."

"Mine is nearer."

There was something in her voice, something so soft and little, that made him look at her: she seemed so vulnerable... nudging at her arm with his one, he made her took one side of his jacket and held it above their heads before wrapping his now free arm around her shoulders. He felt her stiffening a little and then relaxing against him and he smiled slightly to himself "Come on, to Crawley House then."

...

"Here we go." Clarkson closed the door and stood still in the lobby of Crawley House, trying not to move to avoid soiling around, although both of them were wet and on the floor a pool of icy water was already forming. She did not seem to care, probably she was too tired to think about it, because she took off her light coat and dropped it unceremoniously in a corner of the small entrance. There she was, in front of him, in her dark blue velvet-and-lace dress glued to her form, elegant and beautiful even though she was wet to the bone, slightly trembling.

"Yes." Isobel looked at him with a soft smile, both of them shuddering with cold.

Then they y spoke together.

"You should change your clothes, Mrs. Crawley," he noticed the faint blush on her cheeks at his words, but decided to attribute it to the sudden change in temperature compared to the outside "You will get sick, I told you."

"Are you cold?" she asked at the same time, noticing him shivering "Would you like some tea? I can prepare it and you can -"

"No, thank you. I have to go back home, it's quite late."

"But it's still raining! You can not go out again!"

"Can you lend me an umbrella, then? It would do a little, but -"

"Don't be stubborn, doctor, you have seen how it's raining!"

"Well, Mrs. Crawley, I can not either stay here until the rain stops."

She blinked and he understood that she was considering what he had just said.

"Mrs. Crawley, I -" he began again, but her soft voice interrupted him shyly.

"You can. Stay, I mean, not going outside." she stepped closer to him and lowered her eyes on her hands, clapped tightly in front of her stomach, "You should."

There was something vulnerable about her. Maybe it was the wet hair that was slowly slipping out of her simple knot, perhaps the slight tremor that shook her because of the wet clothes glued to her slim figure, maybe it was the small, sweet smile she had given him, without looking at him, something made her seem too fragile.

"Mrs. Crawley... I can not. It would not it be..." he looked for the right word, realizing immediately how empty and stupid it sounded. Without thinking, he slowly moved a blonde curl from her shoulder, caressing it, he watched her intently, and it was good that she had her eyes lowered, so she could not see his eyes darkened with desire, "Appropriate."

"But I'd love to," she finally lifted her face and looked him squarely in the eyes, "Very much."

He looked at her carefully, her pupils dilated, the lips just parted, lips that had to be very soft. Her chocolate eyes looked like two black puddles and he knew that his ones should not be very different. She was the one openly flirting now, she was the one pulling the string, teasing him. Of course, when they worked at the hospital, they had teased each another often, but never that outright. It was dangerous, she was asking him something that he would give her more than happily, something that he can not give her.

"Isobel..." her Christian name slipped from his lips, making her smile lighlty.

"Richard." She took his hand and gently stroked his knuckles "Stay. Please. It's cold outside..."

In hindsight, he could not have said what made him act that way. For seven long years they had worked side by side and, although he adored her, he had always managed to keep his distance, not to give in to his feelings for her, aware of their class differences and the problems that a... deeper relationship between the two of them would bring, especially thinking about the Dowager Countess and her opinion on Isobel Crawley.

This time he could not stop himself.

The hand that was not clenched between Isobel's small and delicate ones ran to her waist, hugging her slim body to his chest. Without thinking too much, the rational part of his brain clouded with desire, he kissed her on the lips, hungrily, angrily, as if years of restrain were finally free to made him act following his deepest, most hidden desires.

She heard her gasp in surprise, but he did not mind, all his attention focused on the dark pink lips under his ones, soft and slightly parted. She moaned louder and her hands found their way around his neck, holding him tightly to her chest.

He pinned her lightly against the wall, one hand on her waist, the other caressing her elegant neck. Richard felt her lips move gently under his ones and another soft moan escaped from her throat, her small hands sliding to his chest and gripping the front of his shirt as to steadied herself from falling, as if her knees had suddenly gone weak.

His lips moved to kiss her jaw and her tense neck, sucking almost angrily at her fair skin. A small, little part of his brain reminded him he would with all probability leave a angry, red mark on her neck, and that it would easily embarrassed her, but I gave it no importance. He opened the first buttons of her blouse with trembling hands, still feeling her small ones gripping at his front shirt, and buried his nose in her collarbone. Lavender, soft, now warm skin smelling of lavender… he wondered if...

The rational part of his brain scolded him again, remembering him that she was a dignified woman, with a good reputation, a woman which he cared truly - and loved, he was no ashamed to finally admit it, not someone he can just ravish against the entrance wall. She deserved better. And he did not deserve her.

"Mrs. Crawley. Isobel," he drew back from her, panting a little, looking at her, at her flushed cheeks, at her swollen lips, at her surprised eyes. Maybe she hadn't expected such a reaction from him, maybe she was expecting a chaste, light kiss, not a hot, devouring one. He panicked: had he gone too far? Had he scared her? "Isobel, I have to go now."

"Yes," she murmured, slowly covering her lips with trembling fingers without looking at him, "Yes, you have to."

"Isobel..." he reached out for her, but she cringed a little and he simply let his hand fall helplessly at his side, "Good night, my dear."

"Richard," he was ready to leave when her voice, as well as her light hand on his arm, made his heart fluttered in hope. Richard turned to face her and for some blissful seconds her lips were softly pressed against his own again, her body pressed flatly against his, "Thank you..."

Another moment later Richard found himself out of her house, the door firmly closed behind him, in the cold darkness, again under the heavy and cold rain. For a long moment he cursed himself for having refused her invitation to stay in a little longer, but then he admitted that staying with her would have been a huge mistake. If he had reacted that way, kissing her senseless, just because she had squeezed his hand and smiled at him, he could not imagine what he could do if he had really stayed with her, alone, until the rain had ceased.

He sighed, leaving the front-garden of Crawley House and her. He could not deny, at least not to himself, that it he had admired her since the first moment he saw her, seven years before. At the time, he had admired her for the fact that she had relied on her reasons, right reasons, against the Dowager Countess of Grantham. Now, after the war, he admired that beautiful, frustrating, incredible woman for her courage and for her kindness, for her unstoppable desire to help others and for her strength. Nothing seemed to be able to knock her down, not even the momentary paralysis of her only child or the sudden death of her future daughter-in-law. Yet he feared, in his heart, that she had succumbed to tears when she was alone in Crawley House, and it hurt him not having been able to support her, but on the other hand they were just colleagues at the hospital, he hoped even friend, but not so close.

With a deep sigh, not minding the heavy rain, Richard put on his wet jacket and walked toward his cottage, trying not to think about the wonderful woman who had just left alone at home.

- Oh, poor Richard, all alone in the rain *hugs* - Reviews are very welcome. But be nice, it is not that easy to write in English! ;) -


	2. Chapter 2

**- Oh, thank you, thank you, for your beautiful reviews! Actually, I felt a lump in my throat every time a notification e-mail from arrived, and it made me very very happy. I'm glad you like it *^***

**I'm not totally convinced about this chapter, but it was to be written in order to get to the next one. It is always a rip off when you write the third chapter before the second one *eyes roll* but hey, sometimes happens.**

**So enjoy the reading, comment if you like and Happy Holidays! I think I'll update after Christmas, let's see the Christmas Special, wooop wooop! -**

_**Special thanks to Liesuh, Lavender and Hay et TeaPowder. Liesuh, glad to have find you on Facebook, LOL**_

Isobel stood staring at the door. Absently, she stroked her slightly swollen lips, and the memory of his passionate kisses making her blush like a schoolgirl.

Really? At her age, she still blushed for a kiss? But that one, those ones were incredible kisses, so to speak, and the force of the desire that Richard felt for her had left her mildly. She was able to inspire such feelings in a man? She, with her certainly no longer young body, could she really excite anyone? Again she touched her lips.

She remembered clearly their innocent flirts at the hospital, the long, intense looks that they casted to each another across the room when they were sure that no one sees them, the flowers, small bouquets that filled her heart with joy, that he always put on her scribes in their office, she remembered everything with vivid clarity, as she was remembering the scenes of a book. In fact, whispered the part still clear of her mind, it looked like a scene from a book.

Honestly, she could not say that among them there wasn't anything - just ten minutes before she had asked him to stay - but certainly she could not expect it to explode like that. She had not expected it, not in that way.

A cold gust of wind under the door interrupted her thoughts before they could take an inappropriate turn, and she gasped, returning abruptly to the present.

Richard.

She'd let him go.

Alone, in the pouring rain, she had not even given him an umbrella - but she was so distracted...

Suddenly she realised that her attitude, her wonder, could pass for a refusal. A rejection of him, his kisses, his - she hoped she was not mistaken - love...

Caught by an irresistible impulse, she opened the door, ignoring the cold wind that invested her and the spring rain that was beginning to flood the small entrance.

"Richard!"

Total silence. Even if he was still near her house, something which she doubted, the howling of the wind between the houses and the sound of rain would have covered her words, which sounded rather too high in the empty hall - certainly she did not want Molesley or Mrs. Bird to wake up, and certainly she did not want to explain them why she was staring dazed at the darkness.

She bit her lower lip, thinking quickly: she could not deny that his kisses had been caught her off guard, leaving her breathless. Neither could she deny that those same kisses had made her feel special, beautiful, loved... she bit more forcefully her lip, peering into the darkness, frowning, oblivious to the rain that hit her. Does she love him?

Staying there and staring into space would not solve anything, she concluded. Nor go to bed and spend the night mulling over what had happened. She fumbled for the closet, took the first coat she found and the first hat, put them in a hurry, grabbed the umbrella and plunged into the night.

...

"Richard!" she called in the darkness, "Richard!"

The road opened in front of her, deserted and dark. The streetlights could barely illuminate the way, the little yellow halos obscured by the pouring rain. The water had been completely flooded the road, and the next morning the mud would have made it difficult to walk and move with the carts. And she was sure to have stopped in the middle of a puddle.

She sighed heavily. Going out had definitely been not a good idea. The rain was ever more insistent, not to mention the cold wind, as to remind her that winter was just finished and the spring was just beginning. Her coat had to be a disaster, not to mention the shoes. The next morning she would have to think of a good excuse to explain to Molesley why two coats and a pair of shoes were covered with mud. A very good excuse indeed.

By now she had crossed almost all he village, and she knew that the hospital and his little cottage were not far off, but there was no sign of him. Motionless in the middle of the muddy road, Isobel looked in vain in the shadows of the houses corners, where the light of the street lamps did not come. She did not dare to open her mouth, to be found in the street would have been highly inappropriate, let alone to call his name out loud, at night, in the middle of the road. Nor, of course, she could go to his house, she was too proud to do so.

She bit her lip for the umpteenth time, the soft skin now scratched in several places due to the teeth - both hers then his. She sneezed forcefully and at the same time a gust of wind broke her umbrella, folding it back into a useless pile of wood and soaked cloth. She cursed softly, wondering what else could go wrong that night, a night that had begun very well. The dinner at the Abbey was pleasant, she had not quarrelled with Cousin Violet, the walk through the village was pleasant, and the she had met Dr Clarkson, Richard, and he had kissed her in that lovely way...

Someone grabbed her arm and pushed her away from the road, pushing her against the nearest wall and under the eaves of a house, as if to protect her from the rain. Isobel looked at the figure towering above her and her eyes widened, startled. She had been a fool to leave the house at that hour, alone, without warning Molesley nor Mrs. Bird, in the rain, to try to find Richard and... and she did not know what else.

And now she was pushed against a wall, trapped by someone, a tall, dark and heavy figure, wet as she was, certainly a man, that was crushing her against the hard, rough wall and was preventing her to see the road. She felt her throat closed by a knot of panic, but even if she had shouted, she doubted that someone could heard her above the howling of the wind. Her eyes filled with tears and she felt the first tremor of fear through her body as she cursed herself again for her stupidity.

A new blast of cold air hit them, but the figure in front of her made her a shield and she felt less cold than before.

"Isobel!" exclaimed the shadow, taking her other arm, "Isobel, what on Earth are you doing here?"

"Richard!" his name escaped her lips in a strangled sob, "You scared me!"

He swore under his heavy breath and lowered his head toward her, looking worried. Now that their eyes were at the same height, the dim light of the street lamp illuminated his face and she could easily identify him, her beloved doctor.

"Isobel, what are you doing here?" he repeated, a bit of anxiety in his voice.

"I... I was looking for you and..." she shook her head, confused, "I do not know. I wanted to see you again, I think."

Richard sighed and smiled softly, squeezing more strongly her trembling forearms.

"I wanted to see you again too, Isobel," she smiled, grateful to his words, but he soon returned serious.

"And even if it makes me happy to know that you wanted to see me again, it was foolish for you to go out alone at this hour. Guess you did not say anything to Molesley, right?"

Isobel looked down and shook her head slowly, suddenly feeling very guilty. Richard was right. Everything could have happened to her, and no one would know it until the next morning, when her butler would not have found her in her bedroom.

"I can not imagine what could have happened to you if I had not found you here. We are close to the Grantham Arms," translating her thoughts into words, as if he could read her mind, he rolled his eyes, turned around and peered into the rainy darkness, "Here lives only good people, we know it, but just one more beer..." he broke off and turned back to look at her, but she was keeping her head down, "Isobel..."

"I know..." she murmured, "I was wrong, but I wanted..."

She paused again and Richard thought to hear the echo of a sob in her trembling voice, "You wanted to see me," he took her chin in his fingers and kindly forced her to raise her face, "It really flatters me, my dear, but the next time you want to see me, you can just call me."

"Can I?" she looked at him in astonishment, her eyes shining, and Richard blushed slightly.

"I did not think you wanted to see me again, Isobel, or at least not so soon after my behavior tonight."

Isobel smiled at his sudden embarrassment, amused, "Richard, it is just because of your behaviour tonight that I wanted to see you again, and as soon as possible." she then noticed that he was still pressing her against the wall and she looked him full in the eyes, a grin on her lips, "You like walls, don't you?"

"And you like to be pinned up and to be kissed against them, don't you?"

Her cheeks flushed, colouring bright red, visible even in the dim light of the street lamps "Richard!"

"What? Don't you?"

"I think I like them when you're the one who pins me up and kisses me. I do not usually jump on colleagues or friends, you know."

"I'm glad. Neither do I, however, usually kiss my nurses. It only happens when they are beautiful, meddler and frustrating."

She pouted, frowning slightly "Thank you for the compliments."

"I've just told you you're beautiful, Isobel."

"And meddler and frustrating."

He nodded solemnly, "Yes, but also intelligent, fascinating and caring."

She looked away and, realising that she was not entirely convinced by his words, Richard embraced and kissed her wet hair gently. She was soaking wet and shivering, he noticed, and as it might please him to have Isobel in his arms, he knew that they could not stay out for long. He sighed at the idea.

"I'm taking you home, my dear," me whispered in her hear when he drew back, still holding her firmly against him, "I do not want you to go back home alone."

"Very well," she tucked a curl back under her hat and stretched out a hand for him, "Would you?"

He took her hand and walked her away from the wall, turning to their destination: the streetlights faintly lit up the road and he was relieved to see that no one was there.

Carefully, he move the first steps down the muddy road.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid that this time my jacket is totally useless."

She smiled at him from under the limp and soggy brim of her hat. Only then he noticed that her hat and coat were of different colours, she must have dressed in a hurry to go looking for him. His heart made a little somersault of joy in his chest.

"And my umbrella went broken before."

He laughed at her words, trying to ignore the absurdity of their situation: they had met by chance under the rain, he had walked her home, kissed her as he had never kissed anyone and then she went out alone to look for him, again under the heavy rain that he was starting to appreciate even only for the fact that he was holding her as tightly as he could to protect her from the cold drops.

Richard wondered if he should pick her up to help her, but he saw she was walking quite well in spite of everything, so he simply hold her by the elbow to prevent her from falling in the mud while they slowly walked to her house. They reached their destination after what seemed like an eternity to both of them, but a quick glance at the gold clock in his pocket told him that it had only been twenty minutes since he had found her in front of the Grantham Arms.

She opened the door, dropped the broken umbrella on the floor near the other coat and smiled at him slightly, looking down.

"I..."

"Go inside, Isobel," he said with his best doctor-voice "Take a hot bath, put on some dry clothes and go to sleep. Either you'll get sick. Promise me you will."

Isobel smiled, perhaps a little bit arrogant, "I'm a nurse, doctor Clarkson. I can do my job." she reached out and patted his arm, "See you at the hospital, then?"

"Of course."

They looked embarrassed at each another for a few long seconds. Now that he had seen her home, and knew she was safe and sound, and that she had no other reasons to go out in the cold night, he knew that he must go, but the it was difficult to leave her again.

With a heavy sigh, he leaned in her "Can I kiss you goodnight?"

"You did not ask for my permission the last time you did it." she retorted, looking at him with a small smile.

He groaned, "Isobel, I'm so sorry..."

"I am joking, you silly man," she murmured, looking away, suddenly shy, "Of course you can kiss me," she shuddered, "If you want, you -"

He stopped her taking again her chin in his fingers, raising her face to his and kissing her softly on the lips. It was a softer kiss, the softest, different from their firsts, but equally beautiful, and he hold her to his chest almost chastely, as if he was afraid to frighten or hurt her.

Isobel smiled softly when he pulled away, absently stroking the front of his wet jacket. Her eyes shone happily and she stood on tiptoe to be able to kiss him again: for a few delicious seconds, here hand on his neck clutched him to her, and his arms hugged her automatically, but she withdrew smiling more broadly, before the situation got out of their hands again.

"Goodnight, Richard."

"Goodnight, my darling."

**- Still not sure about it. Meh. -**


	3. Chapter 3

**- And so Julian decided to sunk our OTP. Thank you so much, Julian. I loved you and your script for the first hour, more or less, then I would have probably strangled you. It's better if you fix this mess in the 4th season. -**

**Thank you all for your comments, thank you thank you *curtsey* they mean a lot. I'm glad you're enjoying the ff!**

**Chapter III dedicated to my dear friends, Eugenia e Francesca. So che state leggendo, ricattatrici che non siete altro, ho fatto la notte in bianco ieri per finire questo macello! E ora voglio i prompt! ORA! Bacini bacini :* :* :* -**

Four days. Four long days without a word from her. Yet when he had seen her home, when he gently kissed her goodnight on the doorstep, she seemed happy. Bright eyes, small but radiant smile, her hands squeezing his forearms. He could not be mistaken.

Or maybe yes. Maybe she had changed her mind. Maybe she changed her mind, perhaps she understood it was wrong, maybe she realised she deserved better, that he could not be at her height.

In his heart, since he understood he loved her years before, when he had kissed in the small hall of Crawley House in that regrettable way, he knew that it would not work. Yet the kisses they had shared had given him hope.

Surely there was a rationale reason for the fact that she, for four bloody long days, had not called him or payed a visit to the hospital - the problem was that he could not understand what could be this motivation.

"Imogen," Richard saw a shadow passing in the hall and called for it, hoping that his voice was heard through the open door, "Can you come here?"

He felt the tray that she was holding in her hands fell to the ground and rolled tiredly his eyes: she was a caring girl, yes. She really wanted to help, that was certain. But she was clumsy, and there were more things she broke then those which arrived safely at their destination. He rubbed wearily his temples, remembering they held the girl at the hospital because after the departure of Lady Sybil they were short-staffed. Only to help. Just to clean the rooms.

And then Isobel had taken under her protection. And anyone who enjoyed Isobel's favour of the hospital could be considered in a barrel of iron, however clumsy he might be.

"Yes, Doctor?"

"There are news from Nurse Crawley?"

"No, Doctor," replied the girl diligently, "The other nurses are surprised about it."

"I see. You can go. "

Imogen made a reverence, seemed to realise that he was in front of the doctor and not of the Dowager Countess, and wobbled to regain her balance. Blushing furiously, she hurried from the room, closing the door firmly behind her. He heard her stumble on what she just dropped before, and he rolled his eyes gain in exasperation.

Then, for the umpteenth time, Richard looked at the phone on his desk and reached down to pick up the receiver. For the umpteenth time he withdrew his hand, resting heavily on the shelf with a sigh.

Call her? The question had been popping in his head for a couple of days. And why not? He could always justify himself saying something about an emergency at the hospital, with a request for advice, or simply telling the truth. He had not seen or heard her for four days, he was worried for her.

Molesley certainly could not have suspected anything, or complain, everyone knew that he and Mrs Crawley had a good working relationship and it would been expected some preoccuation by the doctor of the village for the health of the hospital Chairman of the Board, especially if they did not have her news in several days. Without suspecting that something more had happened between the two of them.

On the other hand, she could have told Molesley she do not want to talk to him, to somehow divert a possible call, but he could not know, not until he had called her.

With another deep breath, picked up the phone, dialled the number with the numbered disc and waited.

"Crawley House."

"Molesley," the name of the butler came out of his mouth in a sigh, relieved, at least they had responded - he tried to calm down, his concerns were ridiculous, "It's Dr. Clarkson."

"Doctor, good morning. Can I do anything for you?"

Taking as a good sign the butler's friendly tone, Richard relaxed slightly, "I would like to talk to Mrs. Crawley, is she at home? She did not show up at the hospital, nor we had her news, for four days, we are concerned. "

He cursed himself: why on earth use the plural? He was concerned, the nurses were almost relieved not to have to deal daily with Isobel's meticulousness.

"Mrs Crawley is at home, but I do not think -"

Molesley's next words were interrupted by a hoarse whisper, and Richard felt his heart fall on the stomach. Molesley did not think that she wanted to talk to him, the implications of the man's few words ringing in his head with all their negative conclusions. She did not want to talk to him. The silence at the other end of the line, or rather the voices in the distance, only served to accentuate his anxiety. Isobel did not want to talk to him. He had lost her before begin. His heart sank even more, and he almost did not catch the next phrase Molesley.

"I put her through."

"What?" Richard gasped, taken aback, surprised, "What?"

"You do not seem very happy to hear me," the amused but low voice at the phone sounded like a song, "Still Molesley told me that you were worried about me."

"Isobel," her name escaped his lips in a grateful whisper.

"Good morning, Dr. Clarkson," despite the use of his surname, clearly due to the presence of Molesley in the room, he could hear the smile in her voice. As well as he could hear her tired and hoarse tone of voice. He frowned.

"You are sick," Richard then understood Molesley's behaviour, "You are voiceless."

"I have a cold," she said with great dignity, the she hesitated slightly and he imagined that she was slightly biting her lip, as she always did when she did not know what to say - although it rarely happened. "I have a little bit fever, too."

Richard smiled, "Oh, Isobel…"

"Yes, I know what you're going to say," she said briskly on the other side of the phone, talking before he could do it, "That I had caught a cold the other night, under the water. When I came looking for you," the fact that she was now speaking freely made him understand that Molesley had to be out the living room - or did he know everything? He scolded herself for being so suspicious "You were going to scold me, weren't you, Richard?"

"Actually I was going to tell you that you should have called me and told me that you were sick. I would come to visit you. I'm a doctor, after all."

"Don't I know it!"

Momentarily leaving aside all possible double-meanings implied in their last exchange of remarks, Richard launched his jab, "But yes, I'm also going to scold you. You should not go around the street alone at night, Isobel. Especially when it rains. It is dangerous."

She groaned, and he knew he had won that round. There was little she could respond to his last sentence, if not reminding him that she had offered to host him at her until the rain subsided... but she ignored the fact with her upper-class elegance.

"You can not say that you are sorry about our small walk in the rain."

"I'm sorry that these have been the consequences," he heard her sigh, "But you should have called, Isobel, or at least warned me. I was worried, I thought -" he stopped, embarrassed. Talking with her made him realise how all his doubts were unfounded.

"You thought I did not want to see you," she completed for him, her tone indecipherable, "Richard…"

"Something like that, yes. Right now I realise that I was a fool for just thinking it."

She laughed at the other end of the line and Richard was suddenly relieved "Can I come and see you as soon as I finish the shift? Before dinner, is it okay? I can justify it by saying that you have requested a medical examination at home because you do not want to get out."

"I'll wait for you. I'll tell Molesley to prepare the tea, if you arrive early."

"Perfect. See you later, then," he was smiling like an idiot, he realised, but the thought of seeing her after four days when he had rotten in anguish made him euphoric. He hoped that the feeling transpired from his tone of voice.

"And Isobel…" he added with a softer tone, "I missed you at the hospital. Not only as a nurse," he stopped, embarrassed, and ran a hand over his face, "I missed you, really."

"I missed you too."

"See you later, my dear."

"I love you."

The words escaped her lips in a whisper just as he was about to hang, and Richard imagined how much it costed her to say them. He went silent for some interminable seconds at her sudden confession. Then he fondly smiled at the phone, sensing her embarrass at the other side of the line, imagining her hold the phone with her little hands, as if to draw strength from it.

"I love you too, Isobel."

…**...**

He knocked at Crawley House door later than he had expected. The last tour of inspection lasted longer than usual because of old Mr Molesley's pancreatitis, but the old man was improving rapidly and he was happy to give the good news to his son when he would arrived at the House. Surely he was too late for the tea that Isobel had promised him that morning at the phone.

Molesley came to open the door and in his more anxious than usual smile Richard read his concern for the health of his father. He smiled at the butler, as reassuring as possible.

"Your father is well, Molesley. His pancreatitis is healing quickly, he is a man of strong fibber."

"Yes, Doctor, he has always been," relieved, the butler led him into the living room, although both knew that the doctor already knew the way, "It's a relief to know that my father is doing well. When will he be able to come back home?"

"I hope in two days, more or less," he handed him his hat and coat, so that he could hang them by the door, "And then he shall rest. Already gardening would be a chore, but I know that it is impossible to make him desist, especially during spring."

"Impossible, sir," a short laugh escaped Molesley's mouth and the man opened the door, "There, Doctor."

"Thank you."

Richard entered the small living room carpeted in light blue, with light-coloured furniture, and smiled. Isobel smiled back from the comfortable armchair in the living room, perfectly dressed for an afternoon tea, but also wrapped in a heavy, plum wool- blanket plum - it was a colour that was always elegant on her. But she was pale, and there was a weariness in her dark eyes that clearly said she did not get enough sleep on those nights.

"Good evening."

"Good evening, Doctor," gracefully, she raised her hand for him to take and he kissed it lightly, holding it a little more then the necessary, "Good to see you here."

He raised an eyebrow in inquisitively and she pointed with a quick nod behind him, making him understand that Molesley was still in the room. Smiling, he sat down on the small couch in front of her, "It's a pleasure to see that you are better than what seems at the phone."

"It's just a little flu," she shook her shoulders, waving a hand vaguely in the air, "I will be better soon." she saw the worried look in his eyes and smiled slightly, touched by the concern he showed for her, "Richard, really, do not make a tragedy of it."

"I'm not making a tragedy," he replies with a calm tone, "But I'm a doctor, and I know that is not something to be taken lightly."

She agreed kindly, cocking her head to the side, "I know, and I assure you that I am taking all the necessary measures."

"Luckily you said you knew how to do your job," he joked, shifting slightly toward her, their knees barely touching "I left you the other night in you capable hands and now you are ill. It does not seem a good bargain," she huffed and he smiled, before returning seriously "You should have called, you know."

"I did not want to worry you."

"You know I was," to him, she looked a little bit pleased at his words, "I was worried however. For many reasons."

"You always seem to be worried about me, aren't you?"

He nodded lightly, "I am. And right now I'm sorry I'm late, the visit to Molesley's father was longer than expected. But he is better," he added, seeing the worried look that had passed quickly in her eyes, "In a few days he will go home."

"I'll tell you Molesley to go to his father, then. For a few days I think I can manage without a butler. And I'll have to get used to the idea, soon he will become Matthew's valet at the Abbey, and I'll have to do without him."

They both went silent for some seconds long, carefully avoid each another eyes. Then Isobel took his hand, smiling a little without directly looking at him "Richard... now that it's too late for the tea I promised you, would you like to stay for dinner?"

"Are you sure it's not a problem?"

"No," she replied, rising slowly to her feet and clutching the blanket around her with more force, "Of course not. I did not invite you just for seeing you go away soon due to a delay. I'll tell Molesley to add a place at the table."

Richard stood up in turn and, before she could walk out the door, took her in his arms and pressed her to his chest, kissed her lightly on the lips. Her arms their way around his neck, as they were used to it, and her light wool-quilt fell from her tiny frame to the floor.

"I can not tell you how happy I am to see you're okay," he murmured against her lips, eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of having her in his arms again, especially after all the doubts he had had in the previous days, "Or at least better than I expected after I heard you on the phone."

She laughed softly and kissed him again, lingering a little bit longer on his lips then during their previous kiss. When they broke apart, he found her playing absently with the dark buttons of his jacket, her eyes downcast, and he looked at her intently, "Isobel?"

"I meant it before, you know."

"Mean what, my dear?"

Isobel blushed deep red and bit her lower lip forcefully, without looking at him, "That I love you. I mean it. I did not say it because -"

He stopped her kissing her again, holding her to his chest so tightly that he lifted her up from the floor, entirely supporting her light weight with his body. He felt her whimper in surprise, but then he felt her arms girding his neck, her body relaxed against his.

"I love you too," he murmured hoarsely between the soft kisses he was planting on her lips and jaw, taking a deep breath, "I love you too so very much, my dear."

She smiled against his lips, squeezed his shoulder and withdrew slightly from him, looking fondly at him.

"Put me down, Richard."

"But I like the feeling of having you so close to me," he pouted, putting on a mock sad expression. She rolled her eyes gently, patiently patting him on the shoulder.

"If you do not put me down, I could not tell Molesley that you are going to stay for dinner, and then you'll have to go back home," she smiled at him, her eyes amused, "I do not think you have come all this way to be sent home without your reward, right?"

"Reward?" At her words, he suddenly put her down quite abruptly, looking at her with wide eyes, "What reward?"

"A quite, nice talk in front of the fireplace, of course," she finally broke away for his arms, reached the door and looked back at him sweetly, quite amused by his obvious disappointed astonishment, "What were you thinking about?"

**- This two, as well as my mind, will be the death of me -**


	4. Chapter 4

**- It seems that today everybody has updated something, so it's my turn. I am very, _very_, VERY sorry for the huge delay, but both my parents are quite ill and for several days I do the nurse (LOL)… it was quite difficult to find some time to sit down and write something for good! Hope you like it! -**

_**P.s. smut!Alert. My first smut!Alert. I'm quite proud of what I've done, actually **_[immodest_mode: ON]_** - So, my very first smut. I've learned a lot about how to write it here, on , so thanks you all!**_

"Where is Molesley?"

She blushed slightly as she carried the sumptuous roast pork prepared by Mrs. Bird, "I told him to take the night off."

"Why?"

"So he can go visit his father at the hospital, and then return to their home so he can fix everything before his father's return, if he wants. Meanwhile, he can rest."

"It is past eight o'clock in the evening, Isobel," he said, glancing at the clock in the room, "Visiting hour is long gone."

She sat and, if possible, she blushed even more, "I told him to tell the nurse he has your permission," at his expression of surprise and amusement, Isobel began to play carelessly with the towel, suddenly insecure of her idea, "If they were to call here for confirmation, I'd say it's all true."

"And if I were to answer that?"

"As if I let you do that!"

"I see…" Richard drank a long draft of wine, scanning her carefully from above the glass, "Why, Isobel?"

"I told you, to allow Molesley -"

"Why?"

The glare she gave him was so murderess that he could not help but smile at her, more and more amused, deeply impressed by how she seemed to have organised the evening _just for the two of them_.

"You know why!"

"Does it have to do with my reward?"

"Making small talk in front of the fireplace between only the two of us is certainly more pleasant than having a butler who enters and leaves the room all the time, asking if you want something," she said, the redness that eventually began to disappear from her cheeks, eating slowly the pork roast, "So yes, it has to do with your reward."

"I'm so glad you think about it. About us."

She blushed furiously again and she went silent suddenly, looking down on the plate of roast in front of her, eating it with small, quick morsels. She had suddenly become nervous and all through dinner Richard only managed to pull out a few murmured monosyllables in response to his questions. She was embarrassed, he could bet on it, and it made her even more adorable. Each time the redness seemed to abandon the pale skin of her cheeks, one single sentence from him could make her blush again, even though he had no intention of putting it uncomfortable or teasing her.

When they finally got up, the roast and the tasty apple pie by Mrs. Bird eaten, Richard took the empty tray from her hands, put it back on the table and took her in his arms, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

"You're very beautiful tonight, Isobel."

"You really know how to flatter women, don't you?"

"No _women_, Isobel. I flatter only _one_ woman," he looked at her seriously, "You, my darling."

She looked up at him sweetly and lightly kissed his check, patting his arm, " Thank you, dear. Now go in the sitting-room and make yourself comfortable."

"I'd like to help you."

"No way!" she took again the tray from the table and shoot him a smile, "You're my guest, not my husband."

She suddenly blushed when she realised what she had said and implied, and looked down, uncomfortable.

"I -"

"I'll wait for you in the sitting-room, alright" sensing her discomfort and embarrass, he simply kissed her on the forehead, "May I help myself a brandy?"

"Of course."

He headed back to the small sitting-room, poured himself a good glass of brandy and sat on the small couch, all the time trying not to think about her last sentence, failing miserably and then hoping that her words would not upset her too much.

It was something he felt he could get used to, he thought as he stared at the fire. He and Isobel at the same table every night, having dinner together as any married couple. And in love.

He could get used to the idea of Isobel carrying some special dish at the table, as well as he could get used to spend the evenings chatting in front of the fire - he hoped doing something else, fireplace or not.

He looked absently at the glass of brandy in his hand and just casually he throw down a sip. He was sure that what they had eaten was delicious, Mrs. Bird was an excellent cook, but what he had really enjoyed that night was the presence of Isobel at his side, sitting to his right, he at the head of the table, their hands often touched and caressed as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He at the head of the table, as if he was the head of the family, and she to his right, as if she was his wife.

He was already used to that idea, he realised, and it was an idea that filled him with joy and love for that wonderful woman.

"Here you are," with a smile, Isobel sat down at his side, her hands folded in her lap, "Did you like the dinner?"

He did not answer, but put a hand on her neck and drew her over to him, kissing her very thoroughly.

"I'll take that as a yes, Richard." she murmured, curling against his side.

"It's a yes, my dear," he kissed her cheek, "But I liked more staying in your company."

"We could do it again, you may come to dinner more often," she looked for his lips and kissed him again, she knew that all her rational thoughts were about to disappear, "Or I could come to your house."

"I'm not as good as your cook, but I think I can arrange something for you."

Isobel laughed and snuggled more in his embrace, playing with the buttons of his shirt and opening the firsts of them.

"Isobel?"

She smiled at his expression, "We said something about a reward, didn't we?"

He smiled slyly, taking her hand is his, "I though we said something about chatting in front of the fire."

"We are in front of the fire," she pointed out, her pupils growing dark, "But... about the talking..."

"Perhaps you prefer to stay here in comfortable silence?"

By now, his arm was resting on the back of the settee, while his other hand had found his ways on her hip, his thumb stroking it soothingly.

Isobel blushed bashfully, "Perhaps I'd prefer you to kiss me."

"I'd prefer it too."

His voice hoarse when he spoke, he bent on her and kissed her squarely on the lips, not the innocent pecks they had exchanges previous that evening, but an hungry kiss, like the very first one he gave her in the hallway.

Isobel moaned, grabbing his shirt and pulling him even closer, one hand running trough his light hair, relieved in the comfortable feel of his weight on her body.

He moved against her, looking for a better position, his hands caressing her and never leaving her body, and he looked up at her only when they both realised that they were not sit on the couch anymore, but completely lounged on the settee.

"You knew it would end like this," he whispered in her ear, pushing her against the soft cushions of the couch, "That's why you told Molesley to go to his father."

"I hoped..." she said in a whisper, moaning when his lips kissed her throat, with particular emphasis on her heartbeat, "You must admit that it would be embarrassing to be caught in this state by the butler."

"What state?"

"This!"

"A very beautiful state, then." he returned his attention on her neck, while his hand hovering dangerously near to her breast, "I think I like it." he added playfully.

"Not…" she managed to murmur, "Not here, Richard."

"You're right," Richard sighed ruefully and sat straight again on the couch, pulling her up with him, "I'm sorry."

"My bedroom, now."

He looked at her in disbelief, "What?"

She got up from the couch, smoothing her dress, "You're not going to leave Crawley House without your reward, and I surely will not make out here, on the couch," she glared at him, "I'm not that young anymore."

"Isobel," he reached out for her and took her hands, pulling her towards him, "Making love to you it's not my reward. It will be the most fantastic thing in my life, not a reward. Reward it's such a… cold word."

"That's why I love you," she replied, taking his hand and squeezing it in order to make him stand up, "You wonderful man."

…**... **

She was lying beautifully naked in front of him, lying upon the creamy sheets of her four-posted bed.

"That's unfair, you know."

"That you're so incredibly beautiful and I'm just a normal man? I agree, my love."

She blushed furiously, "That I'm totally naked, while your not! You only managed to take off your shoes and jacket!"

"And my bow-tie." he joked, running a hand up her hip.

"And your bow-tie, alright."

Quickly, she grabbed her shirt and took it of his shoulders, dropping it on the floor near her various articles of clothing. Just when she was about to reach for his trousers and belt, he took her hands and pushed her down on the mattress, shooting her a hungry look.

"Quite, there. I haven't finished yet to admire you."

"Do you want to look at me all night long, Richard?"

"I want to admire and look at you, to kiss and touch you, to make passionate love to you tonight, my beloved Isobel, but first..." he smiled, "I think I need a kiss."

She giggled as he bent over her to kiss her mouth, his moustache tickling her flushed skin. He was so good in kissing and distracting her with the most chaste touches of his lips on hers that she noticed his hand had moved only when she felt his fingers barely brushing against her folds.

"Richard!" a soft gasp.

"I love you, my dear, I love you desperately" his fingers parted her folds gently and a third one slowly slipped inside her, finding her deliciously wet and ready for him. He felt her sudden intake of breath and looked into her eyes, only to find them darkened with desire, "Does it make you uncomfortable, Isobel?"

"No... of course not... Richard!" her hand clung to his arm when she felt his thumb pressing firmly against her, and her head flew back on the pillow, "Richard, I... I can't!"

"You can. You deserve it. Come on, let go."

She moaned when he caressed her more deeply and pressed his thumb even more firmly against her, and she knew she was almost done for it when she felt his slightly rough lips on her nipple, caressing it feather like.

"Let it go, Isobel," his fingers still caressing her, he pressed his thumb against her numb and the high whimper she gave made him understand she was very near. He nibbled carefully at her breast and went a little bit deeper in her, and then she came, trembling under him and against his hand, calling him at the verge of her pleasure.

He embraced her and waited for her to come back to him, absently playing with her long blonde curls, caressing her back and arm. When Isobel finally open her eyes, she found him looking down at her with a sweet smile.

"You okay?" he gently kissed her lips, "Isobel?"

"Richard..." her hand smoothed the front of his under-shirt and she smiled at him, tired but happy, "Take off your clothes and make love to me, would you?"

He was not the only one able to play that game, she reasoned as she started to lift the under-shirt caressing his chest, she was able too. And by his shocked expression, he probably did not expect her to be that clear and blunt in her request.

"Make love to me, Richard." she murmured in his ear before taking his earlobe between her lips, "I want you."

He complied more than happily. Quickly, his last clothes were thrown at the floor next to her, and he made his way above her, lifting himself on his elbows and looking at her, "Are you sure about it?"

"For goodness sake, Richard, it looks like you don't even want to make love to me!"

"Believe me, my beautiful, wanton woman," he replied, lowering his mouth to her earlobe and nibbling it, "I've wanted you for God only knows how much."

Carefully, taking his sweet time, he took out the pins from her hair, playing with the smooth, blonde curls.

"I like you with your hair down," he resumed kissing her chest as he had done before and he felt her quiet laugh under his lips, her breath becoming uneven at his every kiss.

"I'll wear my hair down when we are alone together, then. Do you agree?"

"I agree on the fact that there'll be more evening, and nights, I hope, together."

"This, my love," she managed to say, looking down at him kissing her breasts, her voice playful and full of promises, "This depends on you."

He eased himself back to her, covering her body with his, his manhood only inches from where she most needed him, "Careful, my dear, with what you desire..."

"I think we desire the very same thing right - Oh!"

It took him only one thrust and he was inside her, her muscles already tightening around him, her body already responding at his presence. He moved, withdrawing slowly, and he felt her whimper in his ear, her nails dinning in his back.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," she gave a small laugh, her breath caught in her throat, "Just do it again, just... oh, Richard"

He felt her burying her face in his neck, her arms around his back and her manicured nails in his sides, and he started to thrust into her, careful at first but then faster and deeper, following her body and its reactions. He tried to hold back to make it last longer, but her desperate murmurs only turn him on more and more.

"Harder..."

There's no need for her to ask him to, he felt he was losing control. His last coherent thought was about her beauty and his last coherent action was his hungry kiss on her parted, swollen lips. After he simply followed the more and more erratic pushes his body was giving into her.

And then she felt it, building again in her stomach, a warm, wonderful feeling making her feel young, beautiful, desired, loved. She gasped, waiting for the most pure bliss he was going to give her, and she looked at him, her lips quivering as her climax started to hit her hard.

"Isobel..."

"I love you," she whispered hoarsely and trembled against him as they both reached their climaxes within seconds from each another, she calling him again as the wave of pleasure invaded her, he kissing and nipping her collarbone.

…**...**

He adjusted the sheets around her warm body, drawing her to him.

"What is that for?" she asked happily, her head resting on his chest, her breath still quite laboured, his arms safely around her.

"I do not want you to catch cold again."

"Catch cold, Richard?" Isobel looked up at him, all but cold, "Hardly!"

He laughed happily and hugged her, bending on her another time to kiss his beautiful woman another time.

**- By, my dear readers, I'm going to sleep! -**

**Review if you have time, it's always appreciate!**


	5. Chapter 5

_**- And so, in the end, I managed to finish this fanfic. I'm immensely sorry for the delay, immensely, but between exams, declining health and looking for a job, the time to write something decent is very little. Still, I hope you'll like this - and I hope we meet again soon with another story! Thanks to everybody, cheers! -**_

_**- For Euge and Fran, The first for her infinite patience about this chapter, the latter because she is going to take me to London (and for her patience, too)! -**_

* * *

"Does this not bother the family?"

"This?"

"Aye," he slipped in his Scottish, "The fact that almost after every Sunday function you excuse yourself and leave them."

"I excuse myself telling them I'm very tired. I use that pretense also when I leave in the evening," she shoot him a knowing glare, "You did not seem to complain about it, yesterday night."

"Of course I do not complain," he smiled, squeezing her hand on his arm, "I was just musing about the fact that it does not seem to bother them, the fact that you're always so tired."

"Some days ago, Cousin Violet said something about the fact I should see the doctor. I told there I will, but surely she could not imagine that I saw you that very evening. In my very house, in my very bed."

Richard laughed and Isobel smiled at him before going on speaking, a little bit quieter, "Matthew think I'm ill too."

"Do you think he knows about us? Or suspect? Any of them?"

"Cousin Violet has already sorted out that there's something between us, I think, but she does not seem eager to tell to the others, she surely does not want to raise rumours… of course, she probably thinks you're just courting me. I don't believe she has imagined that we spend almost all the nights together, or she will already had called for the scandal," she beamed at him at the thought of the two of them so happy together, but then she went quite again, "But I don't think Matthew understood what's going on. He's too busied thinking about his own happy sentimental life. Surely he does not believe his old mother can have another man in her life."

"You're not old."

Isobel smiled at him and kissed him on the cheek, leaning against his body, her hand tucked safely it the crook of his arm. They were taking a long stroll in the countryside around Downton, following a small, white in dust path among the fields, away from villager's eyes and from eventual rumours.

She would have liked it so much, to be able walk with Richard also on the streets of the village, without attracting curious glances or foment malicious gossip. She was happy with him, as happy as she had never been at someone's side, and she wanted to show her happiness to all.

There was only one way to do it, she knew it. She looked up at him, admiring his elegant profile. The sun was setting, their walk had lasted longer than expected, and the warm light of the dying sun made his hair shone pleasantly, giving his skin, certainly not as fair and pale as hers, a healthy shade, his eyes even more alive and bright than always. He was a handsome man, but he had never seemed so attractive to her as in that moment, surrounded by the soft light of sunset.

She loved him. She loved him infinitely, she mused, and she wanted to spend her life at his side. If he had desired, she would be his before God and before men.

She stopped and slid her arms around his waist, holding him close. She buried her face in his chest and heard a faint sob escape her mouth, feeling the first tears stinging her eyes, suddenly sad.

Immediately, his arms engulfed her in a bear-hug and he kissed her hair, his voice worried when he finally spoke.

"Isobel?"

"Never leave me," she murmured, "Never."

"I won't," he answered in her hair, caressing her back to ease her distress, "I promise, Isobel, I won't. I don't think I can leave you, never, I need you."

She nodded in his chest and sunk her face in his heavy grey jacket, ignoring the prickling of the shetland wool of his waistcoat on her cheek, every nerves of her body focused on his arms around her. But from the tension in those very arms she could feel he was far away with his mind, and, for some reason, it worried her, "What are you thinking about, Richard, dear?"

"Us," he breathed, his voice heavy, "Us. Our situation. Everything. Your family, my position in the village, our class difference..."

She drew a trembling breath, sinking her face more in his shirt, nodding, "I'd like to stay here, like that, forever. No families, no positions, no rumours, nothing. Just the two of us. And nobody to say us we're in wrong."

He embraced her more firmly at her words. She was right, they were in wrong. He was spending his nights with her, surely not only talking in front of the fire or eating together, but enjoying her company, her friendship and her love, and it hurt him to know that, still, even if they were happier than ever, they were in wrong. They were living in sin.

There was only one way to act.

"My love?"

"Yes, dear?"

He took a deep breath, looking into the distance, praying to have the necessary courage, "Have you ever considered marrying again?"

Her head snapped up for his chest and she looked at him with wide eyes: he was not asking her what she desperately want him to ask her... or was he?

"Richard?" her lips trembled when she said his name, disbelief and joy pouring over her, "You..."

"I can not go on without you, Isobel. And I want to live properly with you, I want it very much. I want to be able to walk across the village with you at my side, I want to be able to attend to the function with you, I want, I really want, to be able to show my love for you. My life was empty, and boring, before you came, and I only think about work. You remembered me there is something else in the world, you remember me that there are also joy, and love, not only gloomy days at the hospital," he kissed her palms as to emphasise his words, "And then you decided to be part of my life, and the past two months have been the happiest in my life. I do not want this happiness to finish."

"Richard, are you asking me to marry you?"

He blushed deeply, "I know this is not the better way of asking it, and of course I'll ask you again more properly, with a ring and everything else, and maybe I'll take you somewhere nice, in Ripon, or in York, but -"

"Are you?"

He looked at her, smiling. There were joy and disbelief in her voice, and her hands were clutching his to her chest almost painfully. Her eyes were wet and sparkling, and she was struggling with herself in order to stop her lips from trembling and not forming a wide, euphoric smile.

He kissed her.

"I am."

"Oh, my God!" Isobel covered her mouth with a hand and chocked a happy sob, "Oh, my God, yes, I will, I will."

Richard let out the breath he did not know he had held, suddenly feeling giddy. Of course he had hoped in her positive answer to his question, he had dreamed about it for years, but hearing it from her soft lips was something far beyond his imagination, "We're getting married," he breathed, "Goodness, we're really getting married!"

He embraced her, and in his euphoria he lifted her from the ground, spinning her in the air, laughing out his happiness in disbelief, at her surprised squeal. When he finally but her down, he kissed her slowly on the lips, taking his sweet time, enjoying the feeling of her slim body against his. When he drew back, he looked at her with moist eyes.

"I've waited for this very moment for years."

Isobel simply gave him a tremulous smile, wiping her tear with the back of her hand. Beaming at her, Richard handed her his handkerchief and she accepted it with a small nod, burying her face in it, shedding her last, touched tears, "Have you, Richard? Really? For how long?"

"Years," he smiled embarrassed at her, "From the moment I saw with how much passion you fought to save the life of John Drake. When I saw that, no matter what you were told, when you were convinced of something you went on your way," Richard sighed, kissing her hands, "But I believe I admitted it to myself only after you left for France, while I was missing you so terribly. And when you came back... your son was so badly injured and you were so worried for him… and everything seemed to got out of my hands, your son regained the use of his legs, and then Miss Swire died... I had no right to interfere with your already complicated life," the smile he gave her this time was a happier one, an amused, sly one, "Until I found you in the rain."

"You have loved me for seven years?" he nodded at her amazed words and she raised her hand to cup his face, "You silly man! Why didn't you tell me sooner? It must be a hell on earth for you, working with me and everything!"

"It was," he admitted, "But I never had the courage to say anything... I was afraid of losing you. What if I was wrong, what if you did not feel what I feel for you?"

"Richard, dear, I haven't spent the last five years of my life flirting with you for no reason, don't you think? Throwing long glances across the yard, smiling so very often, fussing around you for every silliness?"

Richard looked at her and saw she was smiling, a half smile on her soft lips, telling him that she was joking, that both of them had been a couple of fool for years not telling each another what was going on. Returning her smile, he dropped her hands and crossed his arm, shrugging, "Well, you should have done the first move then!"

Isobel raised an eyebrow at him, skeptically, "Isn't the man supposed to be the one to make the first move of a courtship?"

"Isn't Isobel Crawley a woman progressive and liberal enough to be bold and move first?"

She snorted at his remark, poking him on the chest with her finger, "It's called romanticism, Richard, not progressivism or liberalism!"

"So you're enough a traditionalist woman to allow me to be the man of the house?" his arms engulfed her again, and he pressed her against his chest, "To take the reins of our relationship, of our marriage?

"Only if you not do not tell to Cousin Violet!"

He laughed, "It's a condition I can accept."

"And if you let me decide how to arrange our furnitures, and possibly decorate our home. And let me take care of the garden."

"I also accept all of that," he kissed her nose, "Anything else, Isobel?"

"Yes, there are certain other aspects, but I'd rather discuss them after the wedding," she said nonchalantly, playing with his buttons, before going on her tiptoes and whispering in his ear, "You know, they are very delicate and personal!"

"Isobel!"

She grinned at him, "Yes, dear?"

"You're quite impossible sometimes," he pretended to scold her and then he reached to kiss her, "I'm looking forward for when Travis will call us husband and wife," Richard took her hand, caressing it reverently, "I promise you to be a good husband, Isobel Crawley Clarkson, in every sense" he added and it was her turn to blush slightly.

She smiled brightly, her watering eyes a mirror of his own, "The new Mrs Clarkson."

"The only one. My precious wife. The love of my life."

There would be things to arrange, he thought as he looked at her, buried again in his chest, and people to talk to - Matthew, first of all, but then all of her cousins, hoping they'll not raise objections or difficulties. Then they would talk about the house - were they going to live at Crawley House or was she supposed to live with him in his small cottage? Surely it was nearer to the hospital, but truly it was quite too small for two persons. Not to mention that it was far too modest for her.

Working at the hospital would become easier - of course he hoped that she would continue to work with him, and something told him that Isobel was not the type of person, of woman, _of wife_, able to remain locked in their house cooking dinner and mending old clothes. Wasn't it the reason that he loved her? For her independence, her love for her personal freedom, her sharp mind and her iron will?

They will discuss, of course, probably fight every now and then, but after a lonely life like his, he could not wait to share his days with such a woman, so special and extraordinary, who had done him the honour to love him so completely, no matter what.

Suddenly, while he was still thinking, while he was still hugging her forcefully, as he was shielding her from everything and everyone, he felt the first water bullets hit his arms and shoulders, and he looked up at the darkening sky, a small smile on his lips.

He shoot her a glance. Isobel was humming happily into his shoulder, rocking them both back and forth, enjoying the feeling of being so close to him, the fact that, soon, they'll be closer and nobody would tell them otherwise.

Freeing carefully himself from her arms, he kissed first her left hand and then her lips, before taking off his heavy jacket, and, under her surprised gaze, handing out the wooly-fabric for her, holding the other side of the cloth tightly, a mad grin on his face.

"What, Richard?"

"It's raining."

* * *

_**- FIN -**_

_**- And thanks to everybody, cheers 3 -**_


End file.
