Thank you for your kind reviews for the first chapter. I hope, you'll enjoy this chapter just as much.

Chapter 2 - Rules

"You'll learn, as you get older, that rule are made to be broken." ~ Mandy Hale

Bretagne, 1918

It was almost midnight, when she turned up on his doorstep. Her knock at the door was soft, almost inaudible. He smiled, because he had prayed, hoped she would pay him another visit tonight. Five days he had spent in this village so far and four of these nights he had spent with her. It was cruel, sinful to feel like this, but being with her again after all these years was almost worth the war in all its brutalness.

The moment he had stepped into her small, dark office, he had recognized her and his world had turned into a better place - despite the surreal circumstances.

He was willing to extend his stay in this cold, awful village just to be near her. Of course, he couldn't tell her that. She wouldn't want to hear it and he wasn't allowed to say it out loud. It was against their unspoken rule, established a lifetime ago on another continent and in another war.

"I've got news," she announced, as soon as she had entered his room. "I think I found him."

"Really?"

She handed him a telegram. "It arrived just before I left the office. It seems your Mister Pommeroy is in a military hospital near Dernancourt."

He didn't know what to say. Of course, he should feel glad for the new ray of hope that would end this unwanted mission of his, but he wasn't. "I don't want to get my hopes up," he said without enthusiasm. "Remember, we thought we had found him two days ago." He raised his bandaged hand. "Look, how it ended. A mad man stabbed me with a machete."

"I know. You'll only know for sure, when you see him. At least the description I gave them, fits this time. The man suffers from amnesia and suffered severe internal injuries, but they are optimistic he'll survive."

He watched her, while she took off her coat and hat. With amazement he noticed not for the first time that she never looked exhausted or tired. She seemed always energized and full of life - even after a long day in a tiresome office, burdened with the often hopeless task of finding people who went missing.

"When will you go?"

"Will you come with me?"

The questions came out unisono and they both chuckled. He wrapped her into an embrace and kissed her tenderly.

"I mean it," he said. "Will you come with me?"

"I hoped you would ask," she said with a bright smile on her face. "If it won't take too long… being away for one day won't hurt."

"Dernancourt is not too far away from here," he said eagerly . "I'm sure I can arrange for us to get there and back in one day."

He kissed her once more. His mouth travelled from her mouth, over her chin and her neck. He noticed with satisfaction how she relaxed under the soft caress of his lips. Together they sank onto the bed, where they melted into a soft embrace. She cupped his face with her hands and her answer to his suggestion got lost between kisses and the exchange of tender touches. Soon he wanted to get rid off the barriers of clothing between them, wanted to feel the softness of her body, but his injury foiled his intention to undress her.

He groaned with frustration and pain and rolled back on his back. "I'm sorry." He rubbed his face with his left hand.

"Whatever for?" she asked and wrapped her leg over his legs. She snuggled up against him and kissed his neck.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, when she traced her index finger along the bandage.

"A bit," he admitted. "But that's not it."

"So, what is it?" he felt her eyes resting on his profile. He swallowed, wanted to avoid at any cost to look at her. He was scared to give too much of himself away. After all, he didn't want to break their rules.

"Let's say I can't touch you the way I want and that casts quit a damper on things."

She gently moved herself on top of him and stroked his cheek. "That wasn't so important last night, why is it today?"

He lowered his eyes, still avoiding to look at her.

"As I said, I want to touch you..." he noticed how hoarse he sounded and wished his upbringing and good manners wouldn't forbid him to phrase him how much he longed to please her needs.

"How about seeing me…?" Her voice trailed off while she busied herself with the buttons of her blouse. "Will that do?"

She got back to her feet and slowly undressed up to her corset. His throat was dry, when he sat up to watch her. As soon as her skirt was down he pulled her against him and her hands dug into his hair. Being the pragmatist she was, she wore one of the corsets that were closed in the front. She didn't need a ladies maid or anyone else to get her ready for bed. Her independence usually aroused his curiosity, tonight it aroused his desire for her to an almost painful extent. He kissed her chest and with his left hand he undid the ribbons, slowly freeing her body from the disturbing garmont and the chemise.

The pain in his hand and his frustration about the bandage quickly turned into pure bliss and fulfilment.

Downton, 1920

Glad the dinner was finally over Isobel stood in the grand hallway and waited for Carson to bring her coat. As always when the guests were about to leave, the Abbey was like a busy beehive. Footmen moved criss-cross, carrying coats and top hats, and people exchanged last thanks and greetings.

While she waited, she watched Lady Merton and Cora saying goodbye. The sight of this woman made her incredible uncomfortable. She had always sensed there was a wife - at least in France she had been sure of it, but seeing her with her own eyes was facing a reality she hadn't been prepared for.

There had been rules in France. No questions asked meant no answers had to be given. As insane as it sounded, but the war had made things simple between them. Seeing his wife suddenly complicated everything and aroused guilt in her.

"It was a splendid dinner, wasn't it?" she heard him asking behind her. "I'm just sorry for my son's behaviour. Larry has an odd sense of humour. I fail to understand it."

She didn't turn around. She didn't want to face him. Flustered she liked her lips and said, "There was no harm done. I'm sure Tom Branson will have recovered in time for the wedding."

"I should hope so. I should hate to think the main thing you remember about my family is the distress we have caused."

"I'm not distressed."

Carson arrived with Isobel's coat and she was grateful for not longer being on her own with him, but he didn't leave. He waited patiently somewhere behind her, like a puma waited for his prey. After Carson had left again, he stepped next to her. She saw him in the corner of her eye, still unsure whether it was wise to face him. The fear of exposure due some unwitting word or gaze was paralysing her.

"They make a fine couple," he said, as if he were talking about the weather while she toyed with the gloves in her hand.

"Mary and Matthew? Yes, they are well-suited. She's right for him."

"I'm glad to hear it. I'm very fond of Mary."

"Me too."

She wanted to run, to flee the Abbey as soon as possible, but Matthew was stuck in a conversation with Robert and it didn't look as if he was about to leave any time soon. There was no way out and she had to accept it.

"So, Mrs Crawley…," the emphasis on her last name was nothing she appreciated. Names had never meant anything to them back then. Was he really cross with her, because back in France she still had made him believe her name was still Turnbull like it had been when they first met in South Africa? He had never told her he was Lord either nor had he mentioned a wife. "I hope, we'll meet again at the wedding."

"I guess, we will... Lord Merton."

"Dickie!"

To Isobel's shock Lady Merton called for her husband and he just nodded at her, almost dismissively in his attitude towards her.

"I'm afraid I have to go. And again, please overlook my son's behaviour." She felt his eyes resting on her, but she still looked away.

"I think I will."

She watched him crossing the hallway to meet his wife who didn't seem pleased with him. She hissed something into his direction, Isobel couldn't understand, but his answer sounded just as snappy.

"Mother, will you come?" Suddenly Matthew stood next to her.

"Well, I was waiting for you the whole time," she snapped at him.

"What did Lord Merton want?" Matthew asked.

"I just apologized for his son," she said. "I told him no to think about it."

"He seems a nice chap," Matthew said. "But his family appears rather sour. The son is an arrogant fool and Lady Merton looks as if she has acid in her veins."

Isobel acknowledged his statement with a shrug. "I guess we won't see too much of them in the future."

"Probably not," Matthew agreed and stretched a little. "Let's go home then. I really need to get out of this stuff shirt."

Bretagne, 1918

It was a cold, yet sunny morning after a night of heavy rainfall. He saw how she shivered in her coat. He had to call in some favours to arrange for a car to take them to Dernancourt. According to the driver, a young Corporal, the route he had picked was a safe one.

"No Germans in sight, Sir," he had said with an almost boyish grin on his face, when he had climbed behind the wheel.

He believed him, but he had still decided to take his old army revolver with him. Just to make sure, they could defend themselves in case of unforeseen complications.

She was sitting next to him in the fond of the car. There was an open file on her lap.

"That's all we have on him," she said. "Two pages with his medical file, the rest is still a mystery, but it appears he's not a soldier. He wore civilian clothes when they found him and there was no dog tag on him."

"Does that happen often?" he asked. "Civilians who end up in military hospitals?"

She shrugged, "It can happen…. He was badly wounded and they didn't know what to do with him. I guess they hoped someone would search for him. Which we do now…" her voice trailed off as she closed the file. He sensed there was something on her mind, but she was uncertain how to phrase it.

"Just ask," he said amused. "I won't bite."

"I don't want to be impertinent."

"I doubt you could be."

She chuckled. "I know a lot of people who would disagree with you."

"What do you want to know?"

Her question came out without hesitation, "Who's Mister Pommeroy and what's he to you? I mean you come all the way over from England to France into a war zone to search for him, so I gathered he must mean something to you."

Her question was a fair one. When he first arrived he had only told her, he needed to find an old family friend, he hadn't seen in years. He understood that his explanation wasn't neither honest nor sufficient, especially not now that she was driving across the Bretagne with him.

"He's actually more of a friend of my sister than of me. To be truthful the last time I saw him, I hauled him out of the house." He felt a little bad about the lie, but it was close enough to the truth to prevent him from getting a bad conscience.

"I see…. So he's a special friend."

"Yes, I feel I owe it to him - and her."

She agreed with a nod, obviously satisfied. "You're a good man," she said.

He cleared his throat, embarrassed by her unjustified praise. "Let's say, I try to be."

"Does that mean you will take him back to England with you?"

"If possible, yes. If he's really that badly wounded, we'll see what I can do for his well-being."

He didn't want to say it, but perhaps there was still a chance for him to extend his stay. Every day and night he spent in her company made him feel more and more drawn to her. It was foolish and dangerous to fall in love with her, but he was tired of fighting it.

He knew next to nothing about her and her life. There was a wedding band on her left hand and a faded scar across her lower upper body that told him she must have had or at least had lost one child. Her last name was a mystery to him and he never asked her, if it had changed. Just as he had lied to her only a minute ago, she could have done the same every time she mentioned something personal.

He hated to think she could be married to someone else, but told himself he had no right to be jealous. He had no claim on her and no right to ask questions, she didn't want to answer. Objectively he couldn't find any fault in it when she lied to him the same way he lied to her.

Once this mission of his was over and he had to go home, he better knew nothing about her or otherwise he would move heaven and hell to find her.

They had their rules and it was in their best interest to stick to them.

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