This has taken a little while and there may be a little artistic licence with the facts but it begged to be written.
For Lavender and Hay, because I have been neglectful of late.
His Own Florence Nightingale
The sun had been warm against his back when he had awoke, the afternoon sun streaming through the open curtains, arousing him from the briefest of sleeps. Noise had drifted from the main room of the cottage; the chink of crockery, the constant creak of the faucet, gentle footsteps against the floorboards and Richard had let out a groan. All he needed was a few hours sleep, a peaceful uninterrupted rest before he needed to return to the hospital and the damn housemaid couldn't even allow him that.
Resigned to the fact the would be no rest until he dispatched her Richard sat up, steadying himself against the headboard, inching his way to the edge of the bed, slipping on his slippers, all the while fighting the dizziness and fatigue that threatened to knock him flat on his back.
The hallway was short, the walls flat and cool against his palm as he worked his way towards the source of the noise. Her presence was unexpected although if he had been in better health he may have been less surprised and he gave a gentle eye roll as she continued to potter around his home, oblivious to his presence.
"What are you doing here?" he croaked, his tone laced with annoyance, leaning his body against the door frame as a fresh wave of nausea washed over him. Clenching a fist at his side, he forced himself to look back up at her.
"What are you doing out of bed?" Isobel countered, turning from the sink to look at him, her brow furrowed, concern etched in her features. "You're not well."
His gaze drifted from her face to her hands as she dried them on the square of cloth, beautifully manicured nails and pale alabaster skin seemingly out of place in his kitchen. She had clearly come straight from home, probably the second she heard he was unwell he concluded, and as such her choice of attire was more fitting to afternoon tea than housework. His eyes traced her delicate skin from her fingertips, over her wrist to the bare lower arms and her rolled up sleeves. "Why are you in my kitchen washing my dishes?" He glanced around the small living area as if his housekeeper might appear out of nowhere.
"Did you need something? Some water? Maybe something to eat?" she asked, purposefully ignoring his questions. His first question had in all fairness brought a light flush to her cheeks. There really was no legitimate or sane reason for her to be puttering around his cottage cleaning, nor should she have sent the young girl home, but she didn't think he was in much of a condition to argue. "Why don't you go back to bed and I'll bring you a fresh jug of water and maybe a sandwich."
"Mrs Crawley," he groaned, his tone thick was exasperation, his eyes rolling. Giddy, he reached for the doorframe again. "Isobel, you shouldn't be here."
Isobel took a step in his direction, then another when his eyelids fluttered shut, her hand reaching his arm as his whole body slumped. "Please stop being so damn stubborn and go back to bed, doctor."
His eyes opened and he found himself fixated on the delicate hand resting against his bare arm. "I'm fine. I can manage."
Releasing him with a sigh, she folded her arms across her chest and arched an eyebrow. "Fine. I'll just stand here while you get a drink." Her lips edged upwards into a small smile, waiting for the inevitable as she silently counted to ten in her head. She reached four.
With all the strength he could muster Richard raised himself to his full height and pushed himself away from the door. His body protested immediately, his knees buckled and he almost breathed a sigh of relief when he felt her body work its way under his arm, supporting him with her shoulder as her hands manipulated his body to move as she wanted. "Back to bed."
"The hospital?" Richard asked weakly, unable to form a sentence. When he had told the nurses he was going home, it had been on the proviso that he would be back for evening rounds, that a little rest would clear whatever was ailing him. In the short period he had been upright it was clear that he wouldn't be leaving the house anytime soon. The fact that Isobel was now walking him back to bed and had in effect taken charge confirmed his suspicions that he was no longer going to be making decisions for himself.
Turning them both, she lead him slowly through the cottage back to the bedroom. "I phoned Doctor Harrison at York and he's sending someone over to cover for a few days. We had a nice conversation," she added softly. Richard groaned and Isobel stopped moving, taking the sound for a sigh he was in pain, rather than his frustration at her muttering.
"I'll be back on my feet tomorrow." Although the words were said with conviction it took all the strength he had.
"You'll be doing no such thing," she admonished in a tone he had come to know, and sometimes love. "Three days bed rest is what the nurse ordered."
"And the nurse would be you?" His hand flew to his mouth as he tried to conceal the cough that threatened to have him doubling over in pain.
Isobel smiled fondly. "No one else seemed to want the task."
His eyes widened as they reached the bed.
"I was joking, Richard. As much as I might annoy you, I didn't think you'd want your nurses to see you like this." In truth she wanted to be there. "Once I have you settled I'm going to finish tidying, make a sandwich in case you're hungry later, and then I'll read for a while in case you need anything else."
"You really don't need to do that," he protested feebly. "I'm only going to sleep."
"You could have done that at my house and then we would both have been comfortable."
"Isobel!" He protested as she eased him back on the mattress and removed his slippers.
"Don't you Isobel me," she retorted, tossing his slippers on the floor. He was possibly the most infuriating man she had even loved, and she did love him, but she was also aware of how easily she could get him to yield to her will.
He glanced up at the sharpness of her tone and was surprised to see the worry etch across her features rather than the anger he had anticipated by her words. "I'm sorry."
A smile teased at her lips at how wonderful he could be when he was in the wrong. "You make yourself comfortable and I'll fetch the water." Lightly she brushed the hair from his face, her fingers lingering on his forehead. "You're very hot, Richard."
He managed a faint smile.
She scowled back at him. "Fresh pyjamas and a bed bath for you tomorrow."
"That won't be nearly as much fun as it sounds," he grumbled, as he shifted position to try and get comfortable.
"In my house you could have stretched out in the claw foot tub."
"I'm rather looking forward to the bed bath."
Shaking her head she stepped back from the bed. "Think of it as an incentive to do as you're told."
Richard adjusted his pillows and laid back slowly, suddenly feeling sleepy. "Don't leave too late, sweetheart. I don't want people talking about you, or making assumptions."
"Correct assumptions," she offered quietly, tucking his feet under the blanket and pulling it up and over him. They had promised themselves that if anyone asked them outright they would be honest; it seemed a little ridiculous to deny they were courting when he was having dinner at her house most evenings. In the meanwhile he didn't want her to the centre of village gossip, which is why he had left at ten o' clock the night before despite feeling awful. "I'll make sure you eat some supper and then I'll go. I'll be back after breakfast."
He mumbled something incoherent as he felt his eyelids become heavy and her voice drifted into his mind from far away.
Isobel ran her fingers gently over his hair, brushing the unruly mess back into its usual parting. "If you promise to be good and try and rest I'll come and lie with you in a little bit."
"Promise?"
"I promise." Leaning down she gently placed a kiss to his forehead. In the kitchen she finished washing the dishes, prepared a jug of water and made him a sandwich.
When she returned to the bedroom he was sleeping soundly, on what had come to be his side of the bed, emitting a light snore. After a few minutes of watching him, she slipped out of her shoes and climbed on the bed, settling herself beside him, intent on reading. She opened the book and closed it again almost immediately, unable to resist the urge to place her arm over his body and snuggle into his back.
Isobel let out a deep sigh as his hand covered hers, lacing his fingers with hers, and he tugged her hand tighter across his body. There was something very comfortable about the way they lay together, their bodies fitting together as though they were made for each other, the rhythm of their breathing synchronised to the point that they breathed as one. She promised herself a few minutes, knowing that if she fell asleep she wouldn't want to leave, but inevitably her eyelids became heavy and the gentle rise and fall of his body beside her lulled her easily into slumber.
When Isobel awoke the room was in darkness, the warmth of the afternoon displaced by the chill of the evening, and Richard was still snoring softly beside her. Her stomach grumbled, a slight protest at the fact she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and she decided it was time to get up and probably go home. Somehow in the intervening hours her skirt had tangled itself around her ankles and his leg had somehow become trapped between hers. Gently, so not as to wake him, she lifted his hand from hers, gently prised his leg free and tried to slip out of the bed.
"Isobel," he mumbled sleepily, his hand patting her body in search of hers.
"Ssh, go back to sleep." She was almost sitting up, one leg precariously placed on the floor as she edged a little further from the warmth of his body.
"Are you going home?"
"Yes, I probably should," she said softly, running her fingertips over his forehead once more, relieved that his temperature had dropped slightly.
"It's getting late," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His throat felt dry, almost like sandpaper and his head still hurt, every thought an effort, but he forced himself to open an eye. "It's dark already."
"Yes, I'm guessing its past supper time."
Richard rolled gently on to his back, his eyes seeking her out in the darkness, "You really should go."
"Would you like me to get you anything?" He shook his head, instantly regretting the action. "I'll be fine."
Isobel glanced at the window and back to the man lying in the bed. Even in the faint light from outside the window she could see he was in pain, his short responses an indication that all was far from fine. Letting out a deep sigh she made a decision. Rising to her feet she crossed to the window, pulling the curtains, protecting them from the village beyond. Leaving was the right thing to do, the sensible thing to do but as she stood by the window glancing back at the bed she knew she couldn't leave him. While she had a son, a housekeeper and a trained physician to take care of her when she was feeling sick, he really had no one; no one but her. She couldn't and wouldn't leave him, despite every promise they had made.
Richard watched transfixed as she began to pull pins from her hair, gently untangling each curl and allowing them to tumble over her shoulders and down her back. "What are you doing?" he asked hoarsely.
"If I'm going to stay, and I am going to stay," she offered with confidence. "I am going to be comfortable and at least get a little sleep."
"I can't let you . . ." His protests sounded weak even to his own ears and he trailed off in acknowledgement that for once he was completely in her hands.
"I don't think you're in any position to stop me." Her fingers made light work of the small metal fastenings at the back of her dress and she stepped out of it, lying it gently over the chair. Her stockings followed, leaving her before him in the simple white slip.
"I'm not entirely sure florence Nightingale did it this way," he offered with the smallest of smiles as he threw back the covers and waited for her to climb in beside him.
"Sometimes it's necessary to do whatever is needed to make the patient more comfortable." Pouring a glass of water she knelt gingerly on the edge of the bed. "Here drink this."
Sitting up as best he could, he gulped down the water before dropping back against the pillow. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Filling the glass once more she took small sips before casting it aside. Smoothing down her slip she settled herself on the bed before lying down gently beside him. "If you need anything you must wake me, Richard. Even if you just can't sleep." Settling herself on the pillow she turned her body to face him, smiling happily as his arms automatically engulfed her and he pulled her gently against his chest.
"You need sleep too. It's the least I can do if you're going to take care of me."
One hand slid up to cup his cheek. "I mean it. Please wake me if you need anything."
Richard nodded and pulled her closer, his eyelids already feeling heavy, his body succumbing once more to sleep. On any other night the fact she was lying almost naked in his bed would have brought him unbridled joy, this evening it could only bring him comfort.
Isobel rested her hand on his back, closing her eyes as her breathing fell into pattern with his once more, unable to resist sleep.
She woke with a start, unsure of what had disturbed her, to find the room in pitch darkness, and a cool breeze brushing against her skin. Shivering, she reached down her body to pull the covers over her only to find her hand brushing bare ankle and gathering the thin cotton slip.
A timid noise came from beside her and she rolled over, opening her eyes to seek him out in the blackness. "Richard?"
"So cold," he mumbled, rolling into the foetal position and tugging the blanket up to his chin.
Her fingers sought out his forehead, pressing against the skin, almost jumping away at the heat she found. "You're burning up."
"Cold."
"Your fever is breaking."
His response was something incoherent.
Uncertain of what to do, she lightly stroked his forehead and whispered soothing words. As he shivered again she remembered her training. Prying the covers from his fingers she moved her body closer to his, throwing the blankets over the both of them. Despite his mutterings to the contrary his skin was warm against her hands and she began to stroke his back.
"What are you doing?"
"Hush, my darling," she whispered, her body pressed against his chest. When he failed to relax, she shifted position, her own body almost on top of his, her legs tangling with his.
"Whilst I appreciate the sentiment," he started, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm not sure I'm up to much."
Isobel rolled her eyes and adjusted the bedspread. "I read somewhere about sharing body heat."
"Alright, but I don't think we should introduce it into hospital protocol," he mumbled, his legs finally stretching out as her warmth began to envelope him.
"In that case, we'll save it just for us," she suggested, lying her head against his chest, relieved to hear the steady, familiar beat of his heart.
"Of course I think it works better if its skin to skin." One hand snaked out to rest in the small of her back, holding her in place, the other toyed with her hair.
"Maybe we can try that next time." Lightly she brushed her lips against the bare chest at the vee of his pyjama top. "Do you think you can go back to sleep now?"
He nodded happily against her hair, breathing in the calming scent of lemons.
Isobel closed her eyes, and lay very still, hoping he would drift off quickly and she could adjust what had to be an uncomfortable position for him, her body now lying completely on his.
"You know, my darling girl, I think I prefer the Isobel Crawley method of nursing," he mumbled, his hand sliding up to the middle of her back, preventing her from going anywhere.
A small smile quirked at her lips as she snuggled into him, for once in total agreement.
The end