This is set during Matthew and Mary's wedding celebrations as a sort of missing scene. It could be a oneshot or run into an AU story if you like. A Christmas present for Jayneysuk and ellylilly-pcmh.
"You must be so proud of him."
She turned around swiftly at the sound of the familiar voice, smiling habitually in reply. It had given her a bit of a surprise; she had been having a quiet moment to herself away from the rather raucous wedding celebrations but the sight of Richard standing rather shyly in the doorway of the room was far from unwelcome. By the look of things, she thought, he may have been watching her for a few seconds through the gap in the half-open door as she leant against the mantelpiece of the drawing room where she had taken refuge.
"You know I am," she replied, "This is the happiest day of my life. One of the happiest days. Come in, Richard," she told him, pulling out a chair from the large table in the middle of the room, "It's only me," she teased him gently, "Don't be shy."
He smiled courteously as he stepped properly into the room, closing the door softly behind himself and taking the chair she offered with gratitude.
"I hope you've enjoyed yourself today?" she asked him.
"Oh, enormously," he replied, "It's wonderful that something's finally happened that everyone can be happy about."
"Yes, it is, isn't it?" she agreed happily, "But I'm not sure I'd even thought about it like that before," she admitted, "I'm not sure I've been able to see past the fact that today my son got married. For me that's enough to be overjoyed about. After everything that happened with his injury, the war, and Mary's engagement to that awful man, I almost thought this day would never arrive."
"You always knew he'd marry Lady Mary, then?" he asked.
"Oh yes, always," she replied, nodding swiftly, "From about a year after they met I knew there was no one else, he'd never be happy with anyone else."
"It seems such a waste that they had to wait this long," he remarked. If she was not very much mistaken, she thought he might sound a little wistful as he said that, but she could not think why.
"Yes, such a waste," she agreed, "Though, you have to admit, part of that was their own stubbornness, refusing to see what was right in front of them. They ought to have married in 1914 if it hadn't been for stubbornness. But there's no point in thinking like that," she told him firmly after a moment, "If we dwelt on every missed opportunity we'd all go mad. Best enjoy the present and look forwards."
"Quite," he agreed with her, earning him a smile, "You put it quite admirably."
"Sorry," she told him, "I know I do go on at times."
"No," he replied earnestly, "Really, don't be sorry."
There was a pause for a moment.
"Isobel?" he tested out her first name in this informal setting.
"Yes?" she replied, a pleasant lightness and no rebuke in her voice.
"When were the other happiest days of you life?" he asked, "If it's not a personal question."
She laughed at that.
"It's a very personal question," she pointed out.
"If it's not too personal a question, then," he corrected, smiling at how literal she could be.
"You'll be disappointed," she warned him, but without any sense of foreboding, "I think they'll be surprisingly unimaginative."
"It doesn't matter," he told her, "I want to know anyway."
"Well," she thought, "There was my wedding day. I didn't quite know what had hit me that day, I was walking on air. My dear husband was far too good for me."
"I can hardly believe that," he replied, genuinely disconcerted by the notion, "He must have been more than a mortal man, then."
"You know, at the time it seemed that way," she told him, "I couldn't think how I'd ended up with a man like that wanting to marry me. I was never very pretty or brilliant."
"I can't believe that either," he assured her, wondering for a brief moment if she might be stringing him along to see what he said, but her face was quite genuine, "And even if it had been, it sounds like you had a man who valued you as you should be valued; for your mind, for your wonderful character, as well as your beauty."
The changes in her expression as she listened to him made him think that perhaps he had said too much. But she was slightly flushed a pleasant shade of pink and her eyes had quite lit up. There was a silence for a few moments, both of them seeming to become aware of the distance that separated their hands, each resting on the surface of the table.
She had to clear her throat before continuing.
"I think the other day was when Matthew was born," she told him, "But it was a very difficult birth. It lasted all night. He was born just at the time of the dawn after an awful, awful night and he was the most perfect thing in the whole world. Worth every second of it. I thought for a long time that I couldn't have children," she confided, "Before Matthew I had had a miscarriage and a stillbirth and I know I couldn't have faced that happening again. But when I heard him crying it was the beautiful thing I'd ever heard, it was such a relief. Richard?"
He had fallen silent. To her amazement, she thought for a moment that he had tears in his eyes, but when he raised his head she put it down to a trick of the light.
"Isobel, why have you never told me this before?" he asked her, his voice much quieter than before.
"You've never asked me before," she replied simply.
He gave a sniff.
"Matthew's been your whole life ever since then, hasn't he?" he asked.
She didn't even need to think.
"Yes," she replied, "He has. I can't describe a love like that, Richard," she told him, "I seem to like trying to describe things today, but I can't even try with this," she was quiet for a few moments, "And now he's no longer mine. No, don't try and console me," she told him quite calmly, "I'm not upset by it, I've completely accepted it. He's got his wife to take care of him and to take care of now, and that's just as it should be."
"Even though you think she's not good enough for him?" he questioned.
She burst out laughing.
"Whatever gave you that idea?" she wanted to know.
"I know you," he told her wryly.
"Well, that can't be a compliment, I'm sure," she told him, "But you're right," she added after a moment, "I don't suppose anyone was every going to be good enough for my son. But Mary makes him very happy."
"And what about you?" he asked her.
"What about me?" she asked, puzzled.
"My darling," he asked her, softly, "What will you do with your life if it can't revolve around him any more?"
She was quiet, allowing his first two words to resonate a little. They almost made her smile, but for the seriousness of what he was asking her.
"There's work," she replied, "And I can still look in at the hospital, can't I?"
"Of course you can," he told her.
"Well, that should keep me more than busy."
"That's not what I mean, Isobel," he told her, "And you know it's not. I mean, who is going to be at the centre of your life now? I know you're not egocentric enough to allow your world to revolve around yourself."
She was silent.
"Who's at the centre of your life?" she asked, "I know you're not the egocentric type either."
He was quiet too.
"Well," she began after a long while, breaking the silence.
"I'm sorry, Isobel," he told her earnestly, glad that she was still at least speaking to him after what he'd asked her, "I didn't mean to spoil everything by saying something ridiculous like that."
"You didn't spoil everything," she told him, her hand reaching out, finally, to cover his, brushing her fingers over his to console him.
"But I've made you sad," he protested.
"No, you haven't," she told him firmly, "Nothing you've done has upset. All you've done is talk to me about why I was a little bit anyway."
"I suppose," he began, taking heart from the way her fingers had now stilled over the back of his hand, "What I was trying to say was, you don't have to be alone, Isobel, not if you don't want to. I'll always be... well, there. For you. If you want me."
There was quiet for a few long moments. She was looking into his eyes, weighing him up in a way that was purely instinctive, without any calculation at all.
"As you rightly point out," he continued, sounding shy, "There is a glaring hole at the centre of my life."
"Oh, Richard-..." she whispered, her hand squeezing his.
"Or at least there was," he amended, "But then there was you."
By now she was quite speechless; just watching him.
"Think about it," he told her, "Please think about it."
I hope you liked it. Please review if you have the time.