I. For Edmund, this takes place after the events of the movie, and supposes that Fanny has since passed away. For the Doctor and Rose, late season 2.
Rose and the Doctor pelted down the lane hand in hand, laughing in the foolish and open way of lovers - even if that love be apparent to all but themselves.
"You're a rubbish driver! You might have picked us better weather!" Rose gasped out between giggles. She tried in vain to shake the water from her long, clinging skirts.
"It's England," he replied breezily. "What'd you expect?"
The pair stilled as a crack of lightning brightened the sky, a little too close for comfort, followed by a deafening crash of thunder. The wind was picking up, as well, and the Doctor saw Rose shiver, despite her attempt at nonchalance. He wondered uneasily just how far they'd managed to wander from the TARDIS.
"Hello!" a man's voice cried out from the dooryard of a cozy-looking house at the end of the lane. "Come inside, man! It's not safe to be about in this!"
The Doctor tucked Rose in close against his side. "Run for it?" he suggested.
"Try and stop me," Rose replied, eyes twinkling as she gathered up her wet skirts to what surely would be considered an indecent length in this time and place.
They ran towards the house where a pale, dark haired man was beckoning them. He waved them quickly inside, barring the door against the storm.
"Edmund Bertram, at your service. Pray, do come inside to the fire. It's not fit for man nor beast out there."
"Thank you, sir," the Doctor replied cheerfully. "I'm the Doctor, and this is Rose Tyler."
"Doctor Tyler, Mrs. Tyler, you are most welcome."
Rose extricated herself from the Doctor's arm and coat and turned to face their host with a brilliant smile.
To their surprise, Edmund's face grew even more pale, and his eyes widened. After a long, rather awkward moment, he collected himself. "Pray, forgive me, madam. It's just…you are the very image of my late wife. Are you perchance connected to the Prices of Plymouth?"
"Uh…no…," Rose stammered. "The Prentices -"
"Of London," the Doctor finished for her.
"Yes, of course," Edmund murmured, with a slight inclination of his head. "Do forgive me," he reiterated.
"There's nothing to forgive," Rose assured him with a sweet smile.
"You're soaked," Edmund noted, ringing a small bell. "Mary," he addressed the maid who appeared, "Do find Mrs. Tyler something dry to wear. Surely something of Mrs. Bertram's will suit?"
With a wide eyed glance between her master and Rose, Mary bobbed a curtsy and led Rose from the room.
"Please, be seated, Doctor Tyler," Edmund invited, gesturing to a chair before the fire. "What may I offer you? Tea? Brandy, perhaps?"
"Tea would be lovely," the Doctor replied.
"Do forgive my manners," Edmund said again, after quietly giving the order for tea. "It's just…your wife's appearance is such a shock."
The Doctor didn't even bother to address the notion that he and Rose were married. It wouldn't do to dispute the subject, not in the countryside of early nineteenth century England. And he could hardly blame the poor man's reaction. He shuddered to think what state he'd be in if he ever -
"Here, let me show you," Edmund was saying, startling the Doctor from his reverie.
The Doctor took the small locket carefully. His hearts stuttered for a second in his chest. Edmund's wife was a near exact reflection of his Rose. The tiny portrait perfectly captured the laughing eyes and sweet smile, framed by unruly golden curls. "I'm so terribly sorry for your loss," he murmured, handing the small treasure back.
"If I may be so impertinent, how long have you and Mrs. Tyler been married?"
"Oh, well, you know how time flies. Sometimes it seems like forever, other times just the blink of an eye."
"Indeed. Fanny and I were raised together, you see. I thought…it seemed…that we'd have forever. Forgive me if I make free to say - it is quite apparent that you and Mrs. Tyler share such a bond as my Fanny and I. Treasure each moment, for we never know what is to come."
"Indeed," the Doctor agreed quietly. He was troubled by the increasingly frequent hints that something was coming - something that might separate him from Rose.
Edmund got quickly to his feet as Rose reentered the room, snug in a woolen gown and shawl.
"Thank you," she said, smiling shyly and gesturing at the clothes. "I'll change just as soon as my own dress dries."
"Not at all, my dear Mrs. Tyler. Pray be seated here, it's the warmest place. I'll order a light meal, shall I? Soup and toast, perhaps?"
"That sounds lovely," Rose replied gently, "if it's no trouble?"
"None whatsoever," Edmund assured her, hastily exiting the room. The young man was clearly uncomfortable in Rose's presence.
"He's so sad," Rose noted.
"He showed me a miniature of his wife. She did look just like you."
"The poor man." She snuck a side-wise glance at the Doctor. The firelight played over his delightfully mussed up hair, and the fine lines of tension around his eyes. "Doctor, I told you - I'm not goin' anywhere. You're stuck with me. Forever."
The Doctor turned to face Rose and reached for her hand. "That's what they thought."
His words brought Rose a shudder of foreboding that chilled her more deeply than the storm outside. She gripped his hand tightly, and looked at him with troubled eyes, but the Doctor's ancient gaze was focused on the fire.