A little Isobel Richard story, especially for Christmas. A one shot of Christmas in the Clarkson House. A gift for Lavender and Hay.
Deck The Halls
Pairing: Isobel/Richard
Rating: Pure Fluff
"Do you want to put the bauble on the tree?" Isobel asked softly, holding out the shiny red sphere on the palm of her hand. A small smile formed on her lips as she watched her granddaughter take one last look out of the window before scrambling down from the window seat.
Elizabeth ran across the room, her unruly dark hair bobbing behind her, and came to an abrupt standstill beside the big red box of decorations. Grabbing for the bauble, her little face scrunched up in frustration as the ball was moved from her grip at the last second.
"Remember what Granny said? Be gentle." Isobel shook her head and tried to appear chiding, failing miserably as the small child bit her lip and looked close to tears. She held out the ball again, allowing the little girl to take it. "Here, put it on the tree."
Reaching up on tiptoe the Elizabeth hung the bauble on the highest branch she could reach, the plaited loop of thread barely clinging to the branch. "Granny, look."
Isobel looked up with a smile. "Perfect. We have a bow next." While the child had been excited about the prospect of decorating and actually holding the delicate little trinkets, forbidden as she was at home, she was, Isobel discovered, very easily distracted. It had become a slow process and the large box of decorations was barely half empty.
Closing the door firmly behind him Richard stepped into the hallway. The familiar smell of gingerbread drifted from the kitchen and he was tempted to head there first but the prospect of seeing Isobel was a greater pull. Shrugging out of his thick overcoat, he hung it on the coat stand and stamped his feet, shaking off the last of the frost from his shoes.
"Would you like me to get you anything?" asked the young housekeeper, the most recent in a long line of lost causes that Isobel had chosen to hire. She hovered, waiting for his answer.
He shook his head. "No, thank you."
The unexpected sound of a child's laughter brought a smile to his face and he gently pushed open the door to the sitting room. His eyes fell on Isobel, sat in the middle of the rug, legs tucked under her, tissue paper covering most of the surrounding floor. Her back would ache later, he knew, and she would struggle to get to her feet, but she looked so genuinely happy and relaxed that he knew she wouldn't mind. It would also give him an excuse to gently rub her back and maybe suggest a long hot soak in the tub. Aware of the direction of his thoughts, the inappropriateness under the circumstances his gaze drifted to the child, daintily hanging trinkets on the tree, almost falling into the branches. While the upper branches were somewhat sparse the lower ones were almost overloaded, fallen needles blanketing the floor. Slowly he edged further into the room, until he was almost at the tree.
"Grandpa Richard," came a delighted cry.
Isobel looked up, her grin widening as she watched her husband swiftly lift Elizabeth from the floor, wrap his arms around her and swing her around the room. "You'll make her sick," she chided half-heartedly.
"She likes it, don't you, my little angel?"
Elizabeth leaned back in his arms, urging him to go again.
Richard stole one last look at his wife, raising his eyebrow in question.
"Mary and Matthew wanted to go Christmas shopping. I suggested she might enjoy spending a day with Granny rather than the nanny," Isobel offered, grimacing as she rose to her feet, stretching her back as she did so, awaiting the inevitable spasm as she righted herself. "I hope you don't mind," she added hesitantly, knowing that he had taken a rare afternoon off to spend time with her.
"Of course not," he replied, genuinely happy that they had the girl to themselves for a little while. "And what have you and Granny Isobel been doing, Lizzie?" he asked, bringing them gently to a halt.
"Waiting for you. I watched and watched but you didn't come?"
Gently he kissed her nose. "I'm sorry. I had to make sure all my patients were alright. But I'm here now."
"And we decorated the tree. But . . ." She trailed off, nibbling her bottom lip. "Granny said I was too small, and we had to wait for someone bigger, and now you're here and . . ."
Richard cast an inquiring glance in the direction of his wife, raising an eyebrow, still unsure of the nuances of life with a four year old.
"Lizzie would like you to put the star on top," Isobel offered succinctly, lifting the white star from the tissue paper and brushing off tiny pieces of lint. "I told her it was your job now."
"Grandpa?" she asked hopefully, her wide dark eyes almost pleading with him, her arms wrapping around his neck.
"I don't know," he mused, shaking his head. "I'm not sure I can reach all by myself."
The little girl pulled a pout and for a second he saw her mother at the same age.
"Maybe I can hold you really tightly and you can do it."
Her dark eyes lit up and she gave him the brightest smile she could. "Really?"
He nodded, slightly bemused by how easily the two Crawley women in his life had him wrapped around their little fingers. When he had delivered Elizabeth Violet Crawley four years before he had never imagined that one day she would be calling him Grandpa. Although if it was down to her mother, she probably still wouldn't but Matthew had overruled on that one, wanting his children to enjoy the stability of two sets of grandparents. For some inexplicable reason she adored him. His wife put it down to the fact he spoilt her rotten.
As his wife gently pressed the star between the child's hands, he caught her eye, smiling as he did so. Isobel smiled back at him, her hand lightly brushing his arm, her eyes saying more than words ever could. It had surprised no one, except maybe the two of them, when they had started courting, shocked even less when they had married shortly after. Six months later and he couldn't imagine his life without her, didn't want to remember the years they had wasted.
"Ready?" He asked, turning back to the child in his arms. Gently he raised her to the top of the tree, his grip tightening as she wobbled and slipped, finally settling on her waist as she reached for the top of the tree. Once the star was placed jauntily on the top branch, he lowered her safely onto the ground. Making a rather over the top production of it, he stepped back, folding his arms across his chest, and admired the tree, mumbles of appreciation and nods accompanying the gesture. "It looks wonderful Lizzie."
"Do you think daddy will like it?" she asked, slightly hesitantly. Like her mother before her, Elizabeth was her fathers daughter, totally adoring of him, and very much like him in personality. Mary rarely got a look in.
"He will love it." Isobel gently rested her hand on the girls shoulder. "I want to talk to grandpa for a minute. Why don't you go find cook and see if she has any biscuits and milk for you."
Lizzie didn't need telling twice, running out of the door and disappearing down the hallway before either of them had time to tell her to slow down.
"Sorry, I didn't ask you, it's was just an opportunity not to be missed," she explained, resting her hand on his arm, her fingers gently stroking his arm through the material, feather like touches that suggested that later there might be an opportunity for him, that was not to be missed.
"I really don't mind. Of course there are things I would like to be doing, things that really can't be explored with a child in the house," he whispered against her ear as he pulled her into his arms and held her against him. "But I'm assuming she will be going home at some point."
"Mary said they will be back mid afternoon. So we have a little while to entertain her," Isobel replied, sliding her hands up his chest to rest over his heart.
"And then maybe you can entertain me." Lightly he nibbled her ear, then kissed it, his breath warm against her skin.
"Mmm," she mumbled as he continued to brush soft kisses along her jawline and against her lips.
"Maybe we can make use of the mistletoe in the hallway."
"Before or after we fix the tree?" she asked, pulling back slightly to look at him, a wide smile gracing her lips.
Richard allowed his eyes to fall on the tree, his own smile widening at the creativity of the child. "Maybe we could get her a little tree of her own next year."
"Maybe, or maybe the three of us can do it together next year." Her hands made their way over his shoulders to entwine around his neck. "How was your day?"
"Fine," he replied, distracted by her parted lips and the way her fingers were toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Getting better." Leaning down he pressed his lips lightly against hers or at least that was the intention until she emitted a contented moan. One kiss became two, then three, each more intense and passionate than the last, as his hands began to explore her back and rear, tugging her closer and closer until she was almost crushed in his embrace.
"Yuck. Mummy and daddy are always doing that."
Clearing his throat, Richard turned to look at the small child studying them with an almost innocent expression. "That was quick."
"Cook was busy so I helped myself."
Isobel stepped back out of his embrace, cheeks tinged pink, reluctantly increasing the distance between them. As his arms finally released her she stepped forward and swept Lizzie up into her arms, reigning kisses on her face and squeezing her tightly.
"Granny," she giggled, wrapping her own arms around her neck and holding on tight.
"A gingerbread Lizzie, my favourite treat."
The giggling became louder as Isobel continued to kiss and cuddle her.
"Do I get a kiss?" Richard asked with a whine, suddenly feeling left out and wanting to join in the fun.
Lizzie held out her hand, tugging him into the embrace and kissing his nose. "Better?"
"Much." Gently he lifted her out of Isobel's arms, supporting her with one arm as he wrapped his arm around his wife. "Cuddles with my two favourite girls." Isobel snuggled into his embrace and he kissed her hair. Glancing over her shoulder, he smiled. Outside the first snow of winter was beginning to fall, a white Christmas almost a certainty. In no time at all he would find himself ankle deep in snow, pelted with snow balls, and although he would grumble he really couldn't imagine a more perfect way to spend his afternoon. Of course there was also the prospect of an even better evening ahead. "Lizzie, it's snowing."