Hi everybody! This is my first attempt to write something Downton Abbey related - if you like or don't like something feel free to write a message or leave a review.
All my thanks go to the lovely ms-obsessive-compulsive (on Tumblr) for beta-reading!

Chapter One: Embracing Changes

He kicked a pebble out of his way as he walked to Crawley House.
It was a lovely morning, the sky was bright blue and the sun shone despite the chilly air. The birds sang and the flowers had started sprouting up from the ground: spring was coming.

It was as if the world wanted to cheer him up…but nothing could cheer him up, not really, not when he was going to visit the woman he cared about. The only woman he cared about.

They had seen each other after Lady Mary gave birth, when he had tried to apologize and she had shrugged all off simply giving him a smile, saying she didn't know what he was talking about - she simply understood, she always had.

He hadn't had the chance to see her during the funeral or soon after and, when he finally had the occasion, even if gloomy, the sight he had been confronted with had been terrible.

She had always been a strong woman, but she was in such a state he couldn't help but worry - of course, she had just lost her son, but he really wasn't accustomed to seeing her like that.

She was tidy and impeccable as usual, but her eyes were red and puffy, her complexion more pale than ever and, to a closer observer, her cheeks appeared hollow because of the tears she had shed.

He hadn't had the slightest idea of what to do, he simply tried to convey in the best way possible how much he was concerned about her: he had tried to be warm, polite and careful about her feelings. She appeared so frail, so small; the iron lady suddenly transformed into a porcelain doll.

Since then, he had started coming round at her house every morning after his early rounds at the hospital. The first time he went to offer his formal condolences for her son's death he had intended to remain there for what was strictly necessary; he hadn't wanted to disturb or annoy her in any way but she, instead, had asked him to stay for a bit longer than he should have. He ended up visiting her again the day after, concerned about her well-being.

Now, here he was again, knocking lightly on the front door and, after a few minutes, Molesley came to answer.

"Good morning, Doctor Clarkson. How are you today?"

"Quite fine, Mr Molesley, thank you. How is Mrs Crawley doing?"

"As would be expected. She's in the drawing room, I think."

Molesley led him through the hallway in the same way he did every day, as if Richard might forget where the drawing room was.

"Doctor Clarkson here to see you, Mrs Crawley."

"Thank you, Molesley, show him in."

She was sitting on the settee with her back to him, probably embroidering.

"Good morning, Mrs Crawley," he greeted.

"Good morning, Doctor Clarkson," she replied politely, glancing up at him from her work. "I hope your rounds went well."

"They did, thank you."

They remained in silence for a few seconds, he was not sure how to continue the conversation and Molesley's presence didn't help the awkwardness.

She looked over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of the butler standing in the doorway.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked Richard.

"Oh no, thank you," Richard replied hastily.

Molesley bowed slightly and exited, closing the door after him.

She offered him a little smile before resuming her work in silence, now used to see him every day.

He took a seat next to her on the settee. They had recently grown closer, and neither of the two thought it inappropriate to sit like that, so close to one another…they were grown up people, right? The most important thing is that they were friends, good friends, there was nothing improper in that.

He observed her work of needle and thread. Molesley had mentioned that she started it the day after Matthew's death.

He never thought of her as a woman interested in embroidery or sewing, not that she wasn't able to, she obviously managed well, but he had always thought of her as an independent woman with strong beliefs and different interests from the ones of the ladies upstairs in Downton Abbey.
He never thought she would actually spend her time embroidering but he wasn't bothered by this. He couldn't take his eyes off of her hands as they worked, or off of her lips as they moistened the thread to thread it into the eye of the needle.

She didn't seem to notice how he followed her every expert movement with his eyes, how he bent slightly forward when they started making conversation.

"It's getting on very well, isn't it?"

She turned her head away from her work, rather surprised. "I didn't know you were interested in embroidering, Doctor Clarkson."

He chuckled at her remark and she smiled a little.

"I am not," he replied, "but my mother was very good; she used to tell me stories while sewing or embroidering, when I was a child."

"Did she?" she asked, continuing her work without looking at him.

"She did, and what stories she told me! There was one I liked in particular…"

She looked up at him, encouraging him to continue.

"I don't think it would be proper for a lady," he said rather sheepishly.

"It was a proper story for a child, why not for a lady?" Her voice was stern, but her eyes teasing.

"Maybe another time," he suggested. She looked slightly disappointed.

"As you wish, Doctor Clarkson."

"I wish you would call me Richard," he spoke, almost exasperated by her use of formalities.

She stared at him, not hiding her surprise.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Crawley, I spoke without thinking," he said quickly, worried by her shock.

"No, that's fine," she smiled. "I'll call you Richard if you call me Isobel."

He smiled, "Well then. Isobel." He repeated her name softly, savoring the sound of it on his lips.

She looked down at her hands with a bashful smile and he couldn't help but think that maybe things would change for the better... he might help her through her misery and, why not, take part in her life. He would like that very much.

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