A/N: I know...you've all probably been thinking I've forgotten about this story. I promise, I haven't. I've just simply been having a lot of tech problems lately (thinking something is screwy about the area I am living in now compared to where I was before...) and the last time I opened the doc to work on it...the stupid computer decided to crash on me. It didn't crash this time and I managed to edit the chapter so here it is. I'll keep trying to finish since there's only two more chapters left.

December 24th, day ten

Isobel hadn't slept. She'd been up all night and had watched her clock spin backwards to reset the day. Her mind was too busy to let her rest. Everything that she'd learned in the last nine Christmas Eves had led her to finally admit to herself what everyone had been telling her.

She was in love with Richard Clarkson.

And she was scared to death of it.

She'd been in love before.

She'd been happy and content.

Then it had all been ripped away from her along with a piece of her heart.

Matthew had been all that kept her from simply giving up.

People were always telling her they admired what a strong woman she was.

She hadn't been strong then.

She'd been devastated.

The day she'd given her heart, body, and life to marriage, she'd been happier than she'd thought possible. She knew the notion was old fashioned, but she'd been an old fashioned young woman at the time.

That hadn't meant that she wasn't an independent thinker, and doer. Reg had made sure she understood he wanted a partner, not a house servant. She'd laughed at him and slapped his chest then kissed him. He'd made love to her then, but he hadn't forgotten what he'd said. And he'd never changed his mind. She'd been his partner in everything, even his medical practice. He'd once encouraged her to go on and become a doctor, but she hadn't wanted to. She'd been happy being a nurse, his nurse.

Then…

He was gone.

And she had to discover just who Isobel Crawley was without Reginald Crawley.

She'd never been Isobel Crawley by herself.

When she was by herself, she'd been Isobel Turnbull, the very outspoken daughter of Sir John Turnbull. The very adored, and some would say, spoiled, daughter of the prestigious doctor. Her father had been proud of her and had never forced her to do anything she hadn't wanted to do.

Nursing had been her choice and hers alone. Her father and mother had told her she could be and do anything she chose.

Her brothers hadn't exactly liked the fact that she was allowed as much freedom as she was, but they'd been spoiled by their mother, so all things had been equal as far as Isobel was concerned.

Then had come Reginald Crawley.

Her brothers hadn't liked him from the moment they met him.

Being in line as an heir to a title did nothing to dissuade them from their dislike, either.

Isobel knew why they disliked the young doctor. Her father had known, too, and he'd been ashamed of his sons' attitudes. He'd stood alongside her against their protests. He'd happily given his permission when Reg had asked for Isobel's hand, glad to have another doctor in the midst, especially one as promising as the young Mr. Crawley. And that had angered her brothers even more. They'd never welcomed Reg into the family, and she'd lost touch with them, but she hadn't cared. They'd never really been happy with a sister anyway, though if they had to have one, they didn't see why she hadn't been married off to a wealthy man who would bring more money into the family.

Turning her thoughts back to Richard, she shook her head. Her oldest brother had passed several years before Reg, but the younger of the two was still living and still as distant in his relationship with his sister as he'd always been. She might as well be an only child for all the good it did her to have a sibling. If he were still in her life, he wouldn't like Richard anymore than he'd liked Reg, but she didn't care because he wasn't in her life anymore. Her father would have liked Richard for some of the same reasons he'd always liked Reg.

And that was good enough for her.

"Now what am I going to do, Papa?" she muttered as she settled down on the sofa, resting her head on the throw pillow before pulling the blanket she'd wrapped around herself a little closer.

"Sleep," sounded from somewhere in her memories and she gave in, deciding that resting was good. So long as she was awake in time to be in place for her fall.

"I'm going to have a permanent knot on my head…" she mumbled as she drifted off, hoping that she'd dream an answer to her question.

What was she going to do about Richard?

IC

"Elsie, no." Richard shook his head. "I have no desire to go to the Ball this year."

"Why? Because Izzie will be there?"

Richard frowned at his friend. "No. Because I simply don't want to go."

Elsie rolled her eyes. "Ye're a lousy liar, Richard Clarkson," she let her natural brogue thicken as she looked at her fellow Scot and friend. Slipping into the Gaelic, she told him what she thought he needed to hear…no, what she knew he needed to hear but wouldn't let anyone else say to him. They'd known each other for far too long for her to hold back, it was part of what he'd always said he admired about her.

Richard looked down at his hands as Elsie talked. If anyone else said the things she was saying, he'd have walked away or slugged them depending on who it was. But it was Elsie and so he sat and listened to what she was saying.

Elsie finished what she had to say and sat watching her friend. He wouldn't look at her, just kept staring at his hands. Sighing, she stood up and shook her head. "For all the good it did us to knock sense into Isobel's head and now you go all stubborn Scot on me," she muttered as she walked out of his office. Grumbling as she walked down the hallway to the lifts, she wondered if she should call Isobel to let her know that she hadn't gotten through to the man.

Then she changed her mind.

Maybe locking Richard and Isobel in a room somewhere wasn't such a bad idea after all.

IC

Isobel started awake at the ringing of her phone. Fumbling around as she tried to wake up, she found the object and frowned at the name on the screen. Damned Dickie. Ugh.

Why couldn't this part of her repeated day change?

"Hello," she sighed. "Yes, sorry. I'm afraid I was being lazy and had drifted to sleep." Listening to him, she found herself scowling at the sound of his voice. Why had she never noticed that before? She really didn't like to hear the man talk. Or maybe it was more to do with the fact that the man was more often than not talking about himself. "I'm sorry, but I can't. Yes, I know what my cousin said, but I really can't. I've made other plans. Why don't you ask Prudence Shackleton? She's more your type, I think. I know she's definitely more to your sons' liking. Have a good time, Dickie." Isobel hung up and felt relieved. The man belonged with Lady Shackleton. Not that the title meant much these days, but the woman had it and Isobel didn't…nor did she want a title. Her father had a title which had done nothing but drive her mother crazy with the expectations it had brought with it.

At least now she'd come up with a solution for Dickie.

Now what about herself?

Looking at the clock, she sighed. It was time to get up and get herself ready so she could be in the right spot at the appointed time for her fall.

"The man probably knocked me…" she started then stopped, her eyes growing wide.

Igor knew about the day repeating.

"The old bugger knocked me down on purpose!"

She frowned.

Igor had more to do with this than he'd told her.

Pushing herself up off the sofa, she hurried toward her bedroom, stopping with a roll of her eyes when her phone pinged letting her know that she had a text. Turning around and walking back the way she'd come, she grabbed her phone and read the message.

Talked to Richard. Unsuccessful.

Sighing, she typed out her reply, Thank you for trying, then hit send.

"Well, now I have time to grill Igor and get all of the truth out of him," she told herself as she headed back to her bedroom, taking the phone with her this time.

"When is this mess going to end?!"