A Change of Scenery
Isobel glanced up once more at the sky and inwardly groaned. Dark charcoal clouds had finally dispelled what was left of the blue sky and she detected a nasty chill in the air. It was the last thing she needed or expected. When she had set out from Crawley House she really hadn't planned on walking very far, just a little stroll around the village to blow away the cobwebs and escape the claustrophobia that ensued each and every time her new house guest entered a room. It had been only a few weeks but already the two women were straining the civil relationship they had built over the years. The houses had soon faded away, the Crawley estate stretching out before her beyond the gate and after a moments hesitation she had pushed open the gate and found herself walking through fields of long grass, and wild flowers until the landscape changed and there were freshly ploughed fields. The freedom of being outside brought a smile to her face, brushing away the melancholy and bitterness that had been bringing her down for days.
The sleeve of her pale blue blouse became splattered with dark wet spots and she shivered as the weather took an unexpected turn for the worst. Isobel didn't mind the rain, if anything it was soothing and cathartic but as the few drops that cascaded over her skin quickly became a constant stream, soaking through her skirts, she began to regret her decision to leave the well trodden path. Her first instinct was to hide under a tree and wait the storm out, but as the rain began to fall in a heavy sheet and thunder echoed in the distance she realised that under a tree probably wasn't the safest place to be. Walking quickly, her shoes slipping in the mud, she headed towards where she thought the road would be, hoping someone would pass by and take her to the village. Within a few minutes she found herself knee deep in the long grass and her shoes were heavy with water, her passage severely inhibited.
"Mrs Crawley."
She heard her name on the wind and finally lifted her head, her lips tweaking up into a smile. "Dr Clarkson?" Her stomach did a small flip, as it frequently did, when he said her name, and she breathed a sigh of relief that it was him who had somehow found her.
"Thank god," he said in a rush of breath when they finally met in the middle of the field. The weather had worsen considerably since he had set out from the hospital and he had started to imagine a multitude of terrible scenarios, each more fanciful than the last. "I've been looking for you everywhere." It had not been his intention but his panic was obvious in his tone.
"What's wrong?" she asked innocently, unaware of the consternation her constitutional had caused.
"Mr Moseley was worried when you didn't come back after the rain started. I said I would come and find you." He avoided her eyes, not willing to admit how worried he was. "Here, put this on," he instructed gently, slipping out of his coat and offering it to her.
"But you'll get wet."
"And you'll catch your death if we don't get you inside and out of these wet clothes," he chided, helping her into the coat and doing up the buttons. "Are you feeling alright? Should I carry you over the mud or will you be alright?" He glanced down at what he was sure had been cream heels but were now soaked in a chocolate covered sludge. "My cottage is closest, about half a mile or so."
She nodded in acquiescence. "I'll be fine."
Taking her arm lightly, he guided her across the field, carefully steering through the worst of the mire. His own jacket and trousers were now soaked, his hair only spared by the hat he had grabbed on the way out of the door, but he ignored his own condition, intent on his rescue of her. They walked along the road, unusually in silence for them, as lightning lit up the sky and another roar of thunder rumbled in the distance. "Not far now," he said, not really sure what he was going to do with her once he got there.
Isobel nodded, distracted not by the storm playing out around them, but by his hand still lightly resting on her arm and the look of fear that had momentarily been etched on his face as he found her. She stole a glance in his direction, relived to find a look of concentration, rather than an emotive one she had caused.
Richard opened the front door and ushered her inside first, shaking his hat and slipping out of his shoes before closing the door with a resounding thud.
By now she was shivering, despite his thick winter coat and the sudden change in temperature.
"Isobel," he said softly, gently helping her out of the coat and turning her to face him. "You really need to get out of these clothes."
A light red hue covered her cheeks.
"I'm sorry, I didn't . . ." He sighed deeply as his complexion turned the same shade. "Let me run you a hot bath, and fetch you some towels."
"Please don't go to any trouble on my part." He had already shown her more concern than she deserved, and it wasn't as though he owed her anything.
There really was no way to answer that. She didn't know the depth of his regard towards her or that there was no one else for whom he would go to such trouble for. Had he not found her in all likelihood there would now be a search party scouring the county solely to bring her to safety. Of course she would never know. "It's no trouble, I assure you. You can, if you don't mind, wear some of my clothes, while we dry yours by the fire."
"Richard?"
He turned back to look at her.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome." He gave her a small awry smile, that sent a sudden rush of warmth through her body, and disappeared upstairs, returning moments later with a deep burgundy robe. "Here, slip into this and I'll hang your clothes in the sitting room. While you do that, I'll run you a bath. I don't have any of those fancy bath salts, and I only have coal tar soap but the water will at least warm you through." He knew he was rambling but he had never imagined that he would ever welcome her into his home, let alone run her a bath, had he known he would have purchased something in lavender, with bubbles, for her to soak in.
Isobel remained in his hallway, unsure where to go that would offer her some privacy, unwilling to drip water through his cottage. Glancing up at the stairs nervously, she shed her clothes where she stood, layer upon layer landing in a heap until she was left in her drawers. His robe was soft as she wrapped it around her, and she felt inexplicably safe as she caught the aroma of his familiar woody scent.
As the bath filled with hot water, he brought fresh towels from the linen closet, carefully selecting the softest and less threadbare for his guest. The water was hot but not scolding, and deep enough for her to sink into so he turned off the tap, all too aware that he would be having tepid baths for the next week. He didn't mind all that much, if only for the fact that the image of her naked in his bath was enough to make him need a cold bath.
"Thank you for this," she said standing in the doorway, his robe wrapped firmly around her.
Richard turned at the sound of her voice, hoping his thoughts weren't in any way visible on his face. His breath caught in his throat as he saw her. She was quite beautiful and understated and exactly as he hoped she would look in his robe, her hair now spilling from her chignon. He realised too late that he had been staring when she arched an eyebrow. "You are quite welcome. There are some towels on the floor, not quite what you're used to, but . . ."
"Stop apologising." Isobel mentally chided herself. She hadn't intended to sound so curt but the poor man seemed to think she was judging him, and she wasn't, far from it. "Your home is charming and your towels seem perfectly fine. If anything I admire the fact that you have managed to make a home when you spend so much of your time helping others."
He couldn't help himself. Isobel was in his house, seeing how he lived, and he couldn't imagine it was anything like she was used to. "Take as long as you need," he said, now embarrassed. "I'll be downstairs when you've finished and we can have some tea and toast."
"And clothes? Or am I to roam your home in nothing but a towel?" she asked with a smirk.
God, I wouldlike nothing more, he thought, the image filed away for a night when sleep was not forthcoming. "I'll fetch you my pyjamas. They won't fit but they'll be warm and clean. Or if you'd prefer I can find you a jumper and . . ."
"Your pyjamas would be perfect," she interrupted, suddenly happy that Violet had all but driven her from her home.
Richard returned a few seconds later with a neatly folded pile of blue cotton and left just as quickly, pulling the door closed behind him. He hovered outside the door, torn between not wanting the afternoon to end and wondering how he could have been so foolish as to bring her home. Loving her from afar had been easy because he would never have to endure her rejection but there were moments when he wondered what they could be together. Shaking his head, brushing away his thoughts, he made his way downstairs.
Half an hour later he had changed out of his own damp things and hung both his and her clothes on the airer in front of the fire. The kettle was brewing in the kitchen but Isobel had still not come down and he found himself tidying, hiding his papers in the dresser and bringing blankets into the sitting room. "Are you feeling a little better?" he fondly asked as she finally appeared in the doorway, his pyjamas hanging off her tiny frame, her hair cascading down her back in loose curls.
"Very much, thank you." Her accompanying smile was a genuine one, the turn of events lifting the heavy cloud that had descended on her. "It's almost pitch black out there," she commented, staring past him to the window.
"There doesn't look like being a let up any time soon." Richard placed two cups on the tray and poured water into the tea pot."Go on through and I'll bring you the tea."
"Can I help?"
"You are my guest. Please, make yourself at home."
Isobel settled herself on the sofa, pulling the blanket over her and tucking her feet up under her. As she made herself comfortable, she allowed her eyes to skim the room, taking in the water colours against the muted colours of the walls, the small collection of photographs on the mantle piece, her eyes finally falling on the side table beside the oversized armchair. There was something warm and settling about the small sitting room, his books stacked on every surface, a pipe discarded on the table, the well worn furniture. It was a home and in the last few days she hadn't felt at home anywhere.
"Here we go," he said, placing the tray on the coffee table. "Warming up yet?"
"Very much, thank you."
He sat down in the armchair and poured two cups of tea. "I wasn't sure if you would like preserve so I just buttered the toast."
Isobel reached out and lifted the plate of toast, taking a small bite, then another mouthful until she had finished two slices without realising.
"Hungry?" he asked, a little bemused.
"I didn't think so but clearly the storm gave me an appetite." Isobel reached for the cup, cupping it in her hands, the heat pinking up her fingertips.
"Do you want to tell me why you were out walking in the rain?" he asked, almost casually, as he watched her sip slowly from the cup.
Another bolt of lightning flashed in the sky and she shivered. "To be fair, it wasn't raining when I went out. And then when it started I found myself rather a long way from home." It was the truth, she ruminated, although not to his question, but she could hardly tell him that her cousin was an evil bitch who seemed intent on forcing her from her home.
It didn't escape his notice that she was avoiding the question. "Anything could have happened," he mumbled, trying to contain his concern, his earlier scenarios once more surfacing.
"But it didn't and I'm fine and that's all thanks to you." She shifted across the sofa and replaced the cup on the tray, the blanket pooling at her waist revealing his oversized striped pyjama top.
"I would have done that," he stated, trying to resist the urge to stare at the pale expanse of skin that peeked out from the deep vee of his top.
She shrugged. "You changed," she commented, noticing the clean shirt and trousers for the first time.
"I was a little damp too," he replied with a grin.
"And now?" Her smile was quite endearing as she adjusted the blanket.
Richard leaned forward in his chair, angling his body towards the roaring fire. "I'm warming up."
Isobel nibbled her bottom lip as she watched him, fleeting wondering if there were not better ways they could warm each other up. It took her by surprise but it was not unpleasant one, just one that made her blush."You really are my knight in shining armour."
"Always," he mumbled, subtly avoiding her eyes.
"Sorry," she said, hoping she hadn't misheard him. "I didn't catch that."
"It was nothing." He was always so careful around her, sure not to upset her or make her uncomfortable and now he was taking unnecessary risks, allowing his thoughts to find a voice. "Is the anything else I can get you?"
She wanted to ask him again, to push for an admittance on his part that it wasn't all in her imagination, that he had developed feelings for her in the same way she had for him, but instead she remained silent. She toyed with the hem of the blanket. "I'm still a little cold."
"Really?" He rose to his feet and moved to sit on the sofa between her, taking a hand in his, his professional instincts kicking in. "You feel alright. Your pulse is steady." He placed his fingers against her forehead. "And you're not burning up." As he moved to rearrange the blanket, she leaned against him deliberately, or at least that was how he imagined it. "Would you like me to hold you? Maybe a little body heat may quicken the process."
Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.
Richard gently eased her body forward until he could wrap an arm around her body, pulling her back against his chest.
Isobel draped her arm around his middle, sighing lightly as she felt his heart beating steadily in his chest. His very presence brought warmth to her body and she held on to him tightly, obviously to the blanket slipping from her middle.
"Is this any better?" he asked quietly, enjoying the feeling of finally holding her, comforting her.
She mumbled against his chest, not wanting to move, the thought of going home a distance one.
Richard smiled to himself as he held her, not wanting to move for fear of losing the moment forever, listening to the constant hammering of rain on the window pain as the storm raged on. When he glanced down her eyes were closed and she was sleeping contentedly. Lightly he rested his head against hers, allowing his eyes to flutter shut. He had no intention of falling asleep but her hair was soft against his cheek, a distant scent of lavender drifted up at him and he found himself gently drifting in and out of consciousness. When he had gone in search of her he had never expected to be holding her and as he finally gave in to the lull of the rain, the warmth of the room and the feel of her in his arms he couldn't imagine never doing it again.
The End