It undeniably made them closer. They were a lot less formal around each other. Before, even while they had been living together, they had been relatively restrained, guarded even, when it came to contact. They sat, their arms draped around each other, in the evenings and held each other at night; but those times had basically been the greatest extent of their physical contact. More often than not they had maintained a courteous distance from one another.
But now it was so different. They couldn't stop touching each other, seeking out contact as a necessity. When they were both in the kitchen, he would stand behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder, kissing her neck, his arms wrapped around her waist. They would hold hands as they sat together at the table, and more than once she dared to tease the edge of her stockinged feet up the back of his calf. Even when they worked together at the hospital, he allowed his hand to rest for a fraction of a second in the small of her back; every time he did so, they would exchange the most fleeting of silent smiles, both thinking of exactly the same thing, and then move off.
And, it emerged that their lovemaking hadn't just been a one-off, symbolic gesture. It was never going to be anything like that. They craved the exquisite closeness of it, they craved each other, the explosive, beautiful passion they seemed to awaken each other- both of them privately surprised, an openly delighted by it. For both of them, it was wonderful to have a lover again; more wonderful, even, than it had ever been before.
They would hold hands now on the street, not caring who saw them. By now, Isobel was in half-mourning and most of the village knew that she and the doctor were going to be married. It was only Lady Violet who could bring herself to watch them pass together- walking side by side with their fingers locked together- and still look disapproving.
…...
One afternoon, three weeks before their wedding, he left the hospital early to attend to some business so she walked home alone. When she got in, she was hanging her coat up on the peg beside his when she spotted a small bouquet of sunflowers tied with white ribbon lying on the table. She smiled, crossing to pick them up. As she did so, Richard appeared in the doorway that led to the kitchen.
"Are these from you?" she asked him.
"Yes," he replied.
"Thank you, they're lovely," she told him sincerely, crossing to kiss him on the cheek and then once on the lips, "But why?"
"Do I need a reason?" he asked her.
"I know you, you're a practical man. You will have a reason," she told him decidedly, "Don't worry," she added, seeing the slight hint of doubt in his expression, "That's not a criticism."
"You're right, of course," he answered, "I did have a particular reason."
"What was it?" she asked, leaning against him, snuggling into his chest, fingering the edge of the flowers affectionately.
"I never asked you to marry me properly," he replied conversationally.
"You didn't need to, I'd already said yes before you could get the words out," she reminded him.
"You never got a ring either."
"Oh, Richard," she told him, seeing exactly where this was going, "You didn't need to get me an engagement ring! I don't require it of you, I'm marrying you for you, not for new jewellery. Just the wedding ring will do me just fine."
"I didn't say I'd bought you one," he told her, bringing a little velvet box out of his pocket.
"Well, what's that, then?" she demanded, nodding towards it.
"It's not the right shape for a ring," he pointed out, lifting the box and putting it into her hands.
He was right, it was not. It was larger, more rectangular and flatter than ring boxes were.
"Open it," he whispered, "You deserve to have something, Isobel," he told her, "I won't hear another word of argument."
With trembling hands, she put her sunflowers back down on the table and opened the box with both hands.
"Oh, Richard."
In the box was a locket, gold, a perfectly smooth oval, with tiny flowers engraved in the surface.
"That's not a diamond, is it?" she asked, nodding to the tiny stone glinting in the centre of the biggest flower.
"Only a very small one," he pointed out, "It should have a diamond; it's for your engagement".
"Richard, this must have cost you a fortune," she told him.
"But do you like it?" he wanted to know.
"It's perfect," she told him, "But-..."
"Then how much it cost doesn't matter in the slightest," he assured her, "Look inside."
Gently, she prized open the locket, gasping, her eyes welling with tears when she saw what was there.
"Did I do right to have it put there?" he asked her tentatively.
Set in the locket was a cutting from a photograph, a group picture taken at the convalescent home when the General had visited. Fortunately, it just so happened that Matthew, Isobel and Richard had all been standing next to each other when it was taken, and Richard had cut the three of them out of the main picture to put in the locket.
"Oh, Richard, I love you. Thank you. This is-..." she couldn't think, or finish, "Perfect," she supplied weakly, unable to think of another word, "Absolutely perfect."
Embracing each other, they both smiled uncontrollably, although Isobel was still crying.
"Can I help you put it on?" he asked her as they broke apart.
"Of course," she replied, holding out the box for him to take it.
Gently, he drew the chain around her neck, settling the necklace perfectly in place so the locket rested just below the hollow of her throat. She turned back towards him, slipping both of her hands into his, and they just stood there together for a few seconds.
"So is that a yes, then?"
"A yes, to what?"
"Oh heavens, I still haven't actually asked you! Isobel Crawley," he fell to his knees before her, "Will you do me the honour of being my wife?"
Softly, she boxed him around the ears.
"Get up, you ridiculous man! We've already got the licence and the church is booked!"
Laughing, he got up, drawing her into his arms and lifting her off the floor for a moment. She yelped, grasping onto his shoulders until he set her firmly down upon the ground. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed her lips to his and kissed him, hard.
"Do you think we could-...?" she jerked her head in the direction of the stairs.
"Have an "early night", you mean?" he asked.
"Uh-huh," she nodded her ascent, watching the line of his throat very closely, almost licking her lips as she did so, her arms still draped around his neck.
"I don't see why not," he replied, slipping his hands into hers, and leading her upstairs.
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