As long as it takes
1924
"Did you enjoy the evening?" Dickie Merton asked as the car started moving. He definitely enjoyed having Isobel at his side all evening. It gave him hope. She still hadn't accepted or declined his proposal of marriage, but the mere fact that she was keeping him company delighted him.
"As a matter of fact I did," Isobel answered cheerfully. "Lady Grantham was right when she told me she would prefer a cocktail party over a seven course dinner any time."
Merton chuckled, "I guess, she has a point. How is your ankle?"
"It's nothing," she replied swiftly. "I don't even feel it."
"I'm glad to hear it," he said. "It would hate for you to be uncomfortable."
Touched by his concern, she gave him a smile. "I'm not. On the contrary."
Silence fell. For a moment he wondered, if he should ask her whether she had come to a decision about his proposal or not. He didn't want to bother or, heaven forbid, push her. He didn't want to be a nuisance. Perhaps, if he asked her for tea or dinner…. Her soft voice interrupted his thoughts.
"I'm sorry," she said.
Bewildered he raised his eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"
"I know you are waiting for an answer from me. I'm afraid I've been leaving you in the dark for some weeks now."
"I told you to take your time," he said, relieved she had mentioned the subject first. "I meant it. I can wait…."
Visibly flustered she lowered her gaze, "I appreciate your patience. I'm not sure I could stand waiting this long. I'm rather impatient when it comes to the things I want."
A smile formed upon his lips. The way she avoided his eyes allowed him to hope. It was too dark in the fond of the car to be certain, but he believed she was blushing. He had never taken her for someone who was shy or easily flustered. "I am a patient man, Isobel," he said in a hushed voice. "I'll wait for you as long as it takes. Always."
She shook her head and her astonishment written all over her face. "Why? … I mean, why me?"
He shrugged, amused by her question, "Why does the sun rise in the east?"
Now it was her turn to chuckle, "Your logic is quite disarming, Lord Merton."
"I wish you would drop the title," he said. "Please, call me Dickie."
She contemplated his request for a moment and then she nodded, "I think I will."
They exchanged a smile and then the car stopped. To his disappointment they had arrived at Crawley House.
"There you are," Merton said. "I want to thank you for your company tonight."
"I had a wonderful evening," she said and toyed nervously with her gloves.
"Perhaps we can repeat this some time. I would love to see more of you."
Again she appeared flustered while she stared down on her hands. Then she leaned forward and he didn't quite believe his senses when he felt her lips on his cheek and smelled her perfume. It was an exotic scent, subtle, a bit heavy, yet refreshing. Was it a hint of orange? It was definitely a scent he wouldn't forget. It was as intoxicating as the woman who wore it. Almost every other perfume he knew reminded him of fading roses. This one reminded him of life… of sensuality….
She pulled back, a little embarrassed. "Thank you, Dickie," she whispered and ran her thumb over the spot she had just kissed.
"What for?" he asked still in shock.
"For your…. for being you. It's been a long time since I've felt…. like a woman. I thank you for reminding me." Gently she removed her hand and pounded against the door.
"I promise I won't make you wait much longer," she said quietly before she climbed out of the car. Merton followed her and offered her his arm. She took it and the silence between them as he walked her to the door was comfortable. He didn't remember when he had felt so content and light-footed. Her words – and her kiss – filled with him joy. It meant she was actually contemplating his proposal. She wasn't trying to find a way to reject him as gently as possible.
He actually stood a chance with her…. perhaps she would love him one day. Perhaps she wouldn't fall for him the way he had fallen for her, but did that really matter?
"So….," he took a deep breath and smiled at her. "Good night then, Isobel."
"Good night, Dickie" she returned the smile and after a second of hesitation she slipped into the house.
For a moment he just stood there, unable to leave. Suddenly, he had this fantasy, this lively vision of her and him living in this beautiful house. He loathed his life and the endless routines at Cavenham Park. It was his by birth and heritage but he had never really belonged there. He had never wanted it.
He looked up and saw the light being switched on in the first floor. He longed to be there with her, but no man could have everything. For tonight he had to be content with the ray of hope she had given him.
He had never been more nervous. Sure, she must hear every racing beat of his heart, Merton did his best to put on a brave face as he entered her drawing room. Since her letter with the invitation for tea had reached him two days ago, he had been a wreck. She had finally made her decision. She would finally tell him, if she wanted to be his wife. He was preparing for the worst and praying for the best.
"I want to marry you." Thank god, she said it, before he sat down and had to come up with ordinary conversation about flower shows and dinner parties.
"How…." Stunned and overjoyed he was lost of words. He had hoped and prayed for this moment but actually hearing it was breath-taking. "How perfectly marvellous!"
He didn't know how to react. Should he kiss her? Her hand? Her lips? God knew he longed to do so but he didn't quite know how to approach her. It had been too long since he kissed a woman. Then her soft hands cupped his face with a gentleness he had never experienced before. Her kiss was soft and tender, but it bewitched him nevertheless. His hands came to rest on her hips and for the first time he realized how fragile and delicate she was. And she was going to marry him. He couldn't believe his luck.
He had lost her. He could tell from the expression on her face that it was over. It was over before it had truly begun. With every passing second he felt how she pulled away from him. Larry's rudeness was like poison and not for the first time Dickie wondered why his son enjoyed inflicting pain on others.
Was it really just Ada's influence that had turned his sons into these egotistical monsters? Or should he blame himself just as much, because he had allowed Ada to raise them the way she did?
He touched her elbow, tried to make her face him, but she avoided him. To protect herself she had withdrawn into a safe shell and all he could for now was respecting her wish to establish some distance between them.
1925
"Don't think too bad of me," she said when she outran him outside the hospital. Surprised, he stopped in his tracks. The meeting with the Dowager, Lady Grantham, and Doctor Clarkson had been a disaster. He was used to Isobel and the Dowager Countess being at each other's throats every time the hospital merger came up. He didn't like it, but he had come to see that the argument didn't diminish the friendship or the respect between these two women. It was like a game between them, a challenge that kept them on their toes.
He wasn't so sure about Doctor Clarkson though. The poor man had looked as if he had been hit by a steam engine when Isobel had attacked him. Dickie knew her sharp tongue by now, knew she couldn't control it at times, because her feelings got the better of her. This time, on the other hand, he couldn't shake the feeling that things were different.
"I'm not the one you have to apologize to," he said.
"I will apologize to him when the time has come."
Her choice of words irritated him. An old prickling feeling of jealousy awoke in him. He had often wondered about their relationship, but had never understood it. "What is going on between you and Clarkson?" he asked. "Is there something you haven't told me? Something I should know?"
Isobel swallowed and the blood rushed into her cheeks. "It's just that he's someone who has to be called out on his flaws. He's too self-righteous for his own good. He doesn't see the usefulness of the planned changes because he is afraid to lose his position," she said.
"And you think dressing him down like a naughty school boy will do the trick?"
"I think it will."
"Well, I guess you know him better than I do." It came out a lot more sourly than he had intended.
She didn't answer. Whether she didn't know what to say or because she didn't want to, he couldn't tell.
"This isn't what you think," she said. "What I care about is saving lives. That's what matters to me. It's what it is all about!"
For the first time in ages she didn't avoid his eyes and he slowly relaxed. Ever since she had called off their engagement he had feared she could turn to Clarkson. The Doctor was in love with her and at times Dickie had feared she would return his feelings. The thought of her becoming someone else's wife was unbearable, but now he realized she didn't love the Doctor.
"This fight with Lady Grantham is getting out of hand," Dickie said to change the subject. "I wonder if it is worth the bad blood."
"I told you it was going to be ugly," she reminded him. "We should fight for the changes as long as it takes. It's worth it!" Her eyes, the eyes he loved so very much were sparkling with determination. He sighed. She was irreclaimable. "As long as it takes," he mused and offered her to take her home.
"Here I am," Isobel said when she climbed back into the car. She had accompanied the Dowager back into her house. The events at the dinner table had taken their toll on the older woman. Dickie couldn't remember when he had ever seen Violet Crawley as shaken as this. But then seeing one's child spilling blood all over the table was surely not a sight a parent could ever get over.
"How is Lady Grantham?" he asked.
"She's shocked. I told Denker to make her some tea. She won't be able to sleep anyway before they call her with news from the hospital."
"No, I don't think so," Dickie agreed. A bit pensively he added, "It's strange how quick things can change, isn't it?"
The car started and he leaned back against the backrest. Roberts' words to Cora still rang in his ears and they reminded him of his own loneliness. The only woman he would tell those words was sitting right across him, but she didn't want to hear them.
"Indeed," she agreed quietly. "Life is more fragile than we sometimes think."
He wished he could see her face now, but it was too dark. There was so much he wanted to say, but the words were stuck in his throat. He wanted to tell her he loved her. That they should make the most of their time... How it didn't matter, if anyone approved of their relationship. He wanted to tell her all these things, but somehow he sensed she would only turn him down again.
Shouldn't he be content with them being friends again? Wasn't it better to have her as a friend than not having her at all?
No man can have everything, his father had always said when Dickie had told him he didn't love his future wife. Well, the old chap had been right.
Pernicious anemia. He knew the diagnosis was his death sentence. He wasn't angry, not even surprised. Everybody had to die sooner or later... he had had a good life, yet he was scared. The doctor had told him he would fade quickly and what he knew about the decease was that he wouldn't fade quickly enough.
He wouldn't lament about how unfair life was. The only thing he truly regretted was that he couldn't marry Isobel. With a dreamy expression he looked at her framed photograph on his desk. In the drawer he had collected the letters she had written to him over the years. None of them was a love letter, though he had written several to her. All of them had never left the the room. Her last letter had reached him a few days ago. She wanted to know about his latest trip to London and why Amelia and Larry had cancelled their invitation for tea.
He wanted to answer her, explain it all, but he didn't want to bother her either. What good would it do to tell her about his illness? He still didn't know how to tell her without getting mawkish and the last thing he wanted was her pity.
"Do you feel comfortable? Should I rearrange your pillows?" She was about to grab the pillow she had just put behind his back, when he caught her arm and stopped her.
"I am fine, Isobel," he said gently. "It's just perfect." He placed a soft kiss on her wrist and inhaled her perfume. It was the same scent she always wore, mysterious and exotic as she was.
"Are you sure?" she asked. "It was a long day for you and I want you to be..."
"Stop it!" he said more determined this time. "Why don't you just sit down next to me?" He patted on the spot next to him. She chuckled nervously and did as he asked her.
"Why did you do it?"
"What do you mean?"
He laughed and squeezed her hand. "How about storming into my house to kidnap me into marriage?"
Isobel rolled her eyes, "Amelia has a way of dramatizing things, but I think I have to thank her."
"And what for?"
"Well, if she hadn't denied me to see you, I would have to come up with another reason to kidnap you." There was a twinkle in her eye, but there was something in her voice that told him, it was more than just a joke.
"You certainly were a perfectly beautiful knight in shining armour."
"I'm just sorry it took me so long to come for you," she said, her eyes filled with tears.
He reached out to caress her cheek. "Don't you worry about it," he replied tenderly. "I've once told you I would wait for you as long as it takes. Always."
"I remember. Did you never lose hope?" she asked quietly.
"Sometimes," he admitted, "But never for too long. You were never really gone after all."
She gave him a bright smile that warmed his heart and closed the distance between them. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him for the first time in over a year. To him it felt as if not day had passed since she had first agreed to marry him. It seemed the last year was gone, as if it never happened. He didn't even feel ill any more. His weariness and the pain in his bones was gone. He felt light and happy as never before. She truly loved him and knowing that had been worth the wait.
~~The End~~