A/N: This is my first attempt at Downton fanfic, and also my first Richobel. Begins in the latter half of Series 4 with flashbacks to early S4; slightly AU as there is no "Edith is pregnant and conspicuously absent" storyline, and Mary is actively raising baby George with much mentoring from Isobel. This is an answer to a prompt I suggested to Prompton Abbey on Tumblr, namely: "Write a story inspired by a song that puts you in mind of a Downton character, ship or storyline. Include lyrics within story text. Bonus points for incorporating lyrics into dialogue!"

If you can follow the logic, this story starts approximately 10 months after Matthew's death, with Chapter 2 beginning a flashback that takes us to the hours after he died & George was born. The flashback then carries through the ensuing 6 months before the story wraps on the same scene with which it opened (end flashback).

Music credits this chapter: "I Don't Want Anything to Change" (Bonnie Raitt, written by Maia Sharp/ Liz Rose/ Stephanie Chapman).

***Updated 1/27/16 - The songs mentioned herein are available on my Spotify. Search for Username: ericajanebarry , Playlist: Worthy and True. They add to the story.***

Please read & review. Your feedback is my greatest teacher!

DISCLAIMER: Downton Abbey and its brilliant cast are the brainchild of Julian Fellowes.

I know the truth is right outside
But for the moment it's best denied
I don't want anything to change

I can feel you fading
But until you're gone
I'm taking all the time I can borrow
The getting over is waiting
But I won't move on
And I'm gonna wanna feel the same tomorrow

And I don't want anything to do
With what comes after you
I don't want anything to change
I don't want anything to change
I don't want anything to change

It was approaching midnight when Richard arrived home, exhausted. First there had been an accident at one of the farms. A team of young farmhands had been plowing the fields for the planting of the fallow crop of winter wheat. The rear axle on one of the tractors had broken, causing injury to several young farmhands. The driver had sustained a concussion and a broken arm, one plowman a broken leg and another a dislocated shoulder. Then an expectant mother had called for him with what she believed to be labor pains but, alas, it was a false alarm.

He had originally planned to meet Isobel for dinner at the Abbey after she returned from her afternoon at the women's center in York. But when he knew he would be detained he sent word to her, knowing she would want to help and insisting she stay put. The gloom at the big house was just beginning to lift following Matthew's death. The relationship between Isobel and Mary had become very close in the ensuing months, and she and baby George, who was now ten months old, were positively smitten with one another. Richard would not deprive her of a moment she could spend with their grandson. She knew this without his saying so and loved him for it.

For her part that evening, Isobel had endured with grace the vitriol spewed at her by the Dowager and Lord Grantham over her choosing to return to working with women of ill repute. They insisted she was calling down scandal upon the entire Crawley family. Never mind that it was one afternoon a week and that she had the full support of her husband. Isobel had not quite recovered the strength, since the loss of her son, to return fire in the way she had been long accustomed. Mary had seen the weary look in the eyes of her mother-in-law and had compassion for her.

As the meal concluded and the family were about to go through to the drawing room, Mary stood and announced, "I believe I'll bid you all good night and see to George's bedtime. Nanny says I can soothe him better than she now that he is teething. Isobel, would you be so good as to join me? Only I'd like you to look him over; we shall both sleep better tonight if you do."

Isobel sent a grateful look Mary's way and made to join her. At this the Dowager huffed. "My dear, Dr. Clarkson and the nanny have just examined George and assured you all is well. You mustn't coddle the child Let the staff do what we pay them for." Mary opened her mouth to speak but her mother beat her to it.

"Oh, hush, Mama. Leave her be. I always soothed my girls to sleep when they were teething. It was the only comfort they found at such times. Besides, correct me if I'm wrong, Isobel, but Dr. Clarkson encourages mothers to nurse for the duration of the first year, does he not?"

Isobel was rather taken by surprise, but nonetheless gratified that Cora would consult her for her medical opinion. Cora had softened considerably in her attitude toward Isobel now that they'd both lost children. The two now belonged to an exclusive society of their own, one that no one would aspire to. At the very minimum they now could look at one another and know the other was not whole ... and feel no need to apologize or offer excuses.

"The latest studies do indeed suggest that infants who nurse for the entirety of the first year grow more steadily, sleep more soundly and are more cheerful in demeanor than those who are weaned early. Doctor Clarkson supports this research and has seen it borne out in his own patients. If you'll excuse me ... "

"Cousin Isobel, I'll drive you home when you are ready. Have Carson ring for me," Edith offered with a smile.

Isobel gave a small smile of gratitude and nodded. "Thank you, Edith. That's very kind of you. Well, good night, everyone."

Edith had jumped in before Cousin Violet could get in a smart reply to Isobel's monologue on breastfeeding statistics. She had to hand it to them. Cora, Mary and Edith had come to her aid many times this evening, and for once she felt grateful instead of weak.

Mary had taken Isobel by the arm and walked with her to George's nursery. She dismissed the baby's nanny. "Mrs. Clarkson and I will sit with George this evening. Take the next couple of hours off. Carson will let you know when I retire."

"Of course, m'lady," agreed the nanny and she took her leave, handing over baby George. He patted his mother's face and snuggled against her, but when he turned his head and caught sight of his grandmother he practically leapt toward her. Mary and Isobel exchanged surprised glances and laughed.

"He's all yours, Gran," Mary said, amused, as she passed George to her.

"Oh, my darling boy!" exclaimed Isobel, peppering the baby's face with kisses. He squealed with laughter and nuzzled his face into her neck and Isobel's heart soared. She moved about the nursery with him in her arms, locating a fresh diaper and pajamas and talking to him softly. Mary watched the sweet interaction between them and knew without a doubt that Isobel had been this way with Matthew once. This explained the ease with which Matthew had always shown affection to her, and to his mother.

Isobel was able to reassure Mary that George's teething symptoms were nothing out of the ordinary. She shared how she'd had success, when Matthew was a baby, with rubbing his gums with her finger just before she nursed him. She sat with Mary for George's bedtime feeding, and afterward Mary handed him back to her.

"Rock him for as long as you like. I've begged off for the evening and I think I'll sit over there and read until you're through."

"It's so good of you to share him with me like this, Mary. I can't tell you what ... " Isobel paused, tears welling up in her eyes. She cleared her throat and continued, "what good it does my heart. It's very healing. You do him proud, you know. Matthew. He would love to see the mother you've become."

"Oh, Isobel ..." It was Mary's turn to be at a loss for words. She swiped at tears with the back of her hand and tried to speak again but her voice broke and it came as a strangled whisper. "Does it get easier?"

Isobel herself choked up at seeing Mary's tears. "Well I can only speak as a widow, because as a grieving mother I'm afraid this is still new territory, but yes, dear, it does. You wake up every morning and soldier on, just as you've been doing. I have seen you come so far already. The fact you're out of bed, interacting with your son and talking to me right now is proof that you're surviving. The pain will always be there, love. But so will I." Isobel secured George against her shoulder with one arm and squeezed Mary's hand with her free one.

"Thank you, Isobel," Mary whispered, tears now flowing freely for them both. "Perhaps I'll just sit right here for the time being. If you won't be put out, that is. I believe this is precisely where I need to be."

"Don't be silly; please, stay! You'll forgive me if I go quiet, I hope. I am rather exhausted after dinner and all."

Mary nodded, smiling. "Of course," she said softly. They sat in companionable silence from then on, Isobel humming softly as she rocked baby George. She whispered grandmotherly sweet nothings to him from time to time. "Precious boy ... Gran loves you so ... you look so much like your father ... he'd be so pleased to see how you've grown." She held him long after he was asleep, relinquishing him to his crib only when she knew that she was keeping Mary up. Isobel tucked George's blanket securely around him and bent to kiss his soft cheek. She nodded to Mary and together they left the nursery.

"Do go to bed now, darling," Isobel entreated gently.

"Yes, I'm going. I'm grateful to have had this time with you, Isobel. We may not have Matthew with us now, but at least we have each other."

"Always," Isobel agreed, taking Mary's hands. "It's good to be together. You're the only other person alive now who knew him like I did. Shall I tell Carson you've gone up when I fetch Edith?"

"Yes, but he needn't trouble Anna tonight. If he would simply tell Nanny I've gone to bed, I can see to myself just for tonight."

"Of course, dear. Come to me for luncheon on Friday, will you?"

"I'd like that very much," Mary smiled. "George and I would love to join you. Good night, Isobel. And again, thank you."

She was well and truly exhausted when she arrived home and, after thanking Edith for the ride and bidding her good night, Isobel fixed herself a cup of tea and prepared for bed. She lit a fire in the bedroom fireplace, for despite the warmth of the day there was quite a chill come nightfall. Stripping bare, she slipped into the negligée gifted to her by Cora on her wedding day. At first Isobel had been shocked by the gift, but Cora had looked at her with the expression of one grieving mother to another and had said softly, "Dr. Clarkson loves you so much, Isobel, and I know how desperately you love him. Let him. It will go so far toward your healing." She needed him tonight, whether he should arrive home now or at dawn.

There was a dressing gown that matched the nightgown but she chose to forego it, crossing the room to Richard's side of the bed and retrieving his from the nearby armchair instead. It held his scent, a heady combination of woodsmoke and his aftershave and something that she couldn't quite name, but that was so distinctly him. But it was not merely the fact that the garment smelled like him, it was like him, masculine yet soft and warm. As Isobel wrapped it around herself she imagined it was his arms around her and smiled.

Isobel's intention had been to wait up for Richard, but ten o'clock came and went with no sign of him and she couldn't will her eyes to stay open any longer. Finishing her tea, she penned a quick note to him and left it on the kitchen table.

R,
Wake me when you get home. I've missed you tonight. Forgive me my fatigue ... at least I've warmed up the bed for you.
Yours,
Bel

Turning back the covers, Isobel draped Richard's dressing gown over the bedpost and climbed into bed, embracing his pillow. She buried her face in it. Being surrounded by his scent was not as gratifying as being enfolded in his arms, but it was enough to soothe her into a dreamless sleep.

That was how he found her, arms wrapped around his pillow, honey-colored curls spilling across hers. One shoulder was partially uncovered and he regarded the light blue strap of her gown with a smile. Wake me when you get home, she'd written. At least I've warmed up the bed for you.

Warm was exactly how she looked to him. And enticing. And his. He still could scarcely believe it.