Set during episode 7.
Isobel waited hovering behind the sitting room door and holding her breath for dear life, clutching the rug from the back of the settee up to her bosom, trying to cover the rest of her naked body until she heard the front door closing and Richard's footsteps coming back along the hall. Only then did she dare to exhale, and at the same time Richard's face appeared around the door, grinning at the sight of her in her ridiculous state.
"That was a near thing," he remarked, smirking at the look of lingering panic on her face.
"You can say that again," she replied, letting the rug slip a little as he reached out to take her back into his arms, "Who on earth was it?"
It was exceedingly unfortunate that there had been a knock on the door just the moment that they had fixed on spend the entire night curled up in each other's bodies, lying in front of the fire in the sitting room. Well, a little while after they'd actually decided to. To be absolutely precise, they heard the knock at the exact moment that her corset and shift had hit the floor.
"It was Branson, down from the main house," he told her, his hands running over her back and resting softly on her shoulders blades, holding her gently against him "He says I'm to go up there at once."
Looking appalled, Isobel muttered something mildly obscene under her breath, and he laughed against her shoulder, kissing it.
"That's not all," he continued, "He said that you were to come too."
"What?" Isobel was shaken to within an inch of her wits by the idea, "He knew I was here? How? I even hid behind the door!"
"No," he told her, "He said he was going to Crawley House to fetch you and then he'd be back to collect me. He said he was sorry that he'd disturbed me, he thought it would have been too early for me to be turning in for a night. The boy's still fairly naïve," he added, looking half-wistfully, half-admiringly at her exposed breasts.
Isobel, however, could not quite share in his wry ruefulness. Moreover she was, again, rather panicked.
"But I'm here, Richard!" she pointed out, "I'm not at Crawley House, and Branson will find out as much when he gets there!"
He stared at her.
"That's it, then," he replied, an air of capitulation about him, "The game's up. Everyone will know."
"I hope to God that Molesley and Matthew can come up with something discreet," she muttered distractedly, "And plausible. It must be plausible. Oh, we're done for! Matthew can't lie to save his life. He was always a terrible liar as a child, I could spot a fib a mile away... Wait!" she exclaimed, her grip suddenly tightening on his arm, "Matthew's not at home either! He's at the main house for dinner. What if it's him they want you to go and see? What if something's happened, and that's why they want me there too? Oh, Richard, quickly, put your clothes on properly and let's go."
He acquiesced, knowing how important it was to her. All that remained for him to do was to smarten up his shirt and put his waistcoat, collar and tie on while Isobel was left to hurriedly fasten her corset, put on her dress and smarten her hair; all the while desperately trying to remove all evidence of her having been on the verge of romantic tryst.
"You look fine," he told her softly as she busied herself in front of the mirror, trying to make her hair lie flat, "No could ever tell by the sight of you. Except me, that is."
Giving up, she turned to him, smiling at him in a vaguely frightened way.
"He will be alright," he tried to reassure her, reaching out and taking her by the hand, "Everything will be fine. And I'll be here."
She did not look very convinced by his assertions, though she could not help but be heartened by this last.
"What will we tell Branson?" she asked quietly.
"That you had gone out for an evening stroll," he replied, "I imagine that will conform with Molesley's usual explanation for your abnormal behaviour, and that I saw you passing and invited you to wait here with me. Everything will be alright, it will all be fine," he repeated, "No one will know."
Again, she did not look very sure.
"And if they do," he added, kissing her hand, "If one of them works it out, I'll marry you tomorrow. Either way, when it's all over- whatever it is- and we're finished up there, we'll come back here and have our night together. Whatever you need."
In spite of her worry, she smiled at him gratefully.
"Thank you, Richard."
"Not at all, my love. Let's go and wait for Branson outside."
…...
She kept her word; she came back after dinner. It was very late. He heard her let herself in via the front door. While he had feared that she would not come, he almost feared the...discussion they must have now more frightening. He did not rise to go and greet her. The way she had not looked at him once he'd revealed the truth spoke volumes. He stayed sitting on the settee, staring into the weak fire even as he heard the door of the sitting room open softly too, and he knew she must be there with him.
He could tell without looking that the initial euphoric happiness of relief had worn away. That was it then: she would want to know why he hadn't told her. And he had to admit now that his reason seemed pretty feeble. She did not speak for a few moments. The silence was awful. He wanted to turn around and look at her, but still he did not dare to. In the end, she spoke first.
"Why did you lie, Richard?"
For the most part her voice was soft, but failed to disguise the hurt and the bitterness underneath. Even as he did it, he hardly dared to: he turned to look at her. She was standing there- still wearing her coat- rather helplessly.
"I didn't lie," he told her, willing her to understand him.
"But you didn't tell me the truth," she told him, "You didn't tell me that there was a chance that my son might walk again. Why, Richard?" she demanded, "I understand why you though it best not to tell him, but me? After everything we said. Why didn't you tell me?"
Her voice was dangerously close to breaking, he could hear it creeping closer and closer to the edge. He stood up cautiously, moving around the settee to step closer to her. She did not actually take a step back, but she shifted noticeably away from him. And still she waited for him to answer.
"It's like I said before. I didn't want anyone, you especially, to have any false hope."
"But I already did hope," she reminded him, "And you knew, because I told you everything I that thought or felt during that horrible horrible time. I trusted you totally."
"But what does it matter now?" he asked, taking a bold step forwards, "Whatever I said or didn't say. Matthew can walk now, or will be able to very shortly. Everything is alright!"
This time, she did take a step back.
"What does it matter?" she repeated, genuinely shocked, "What does it matter, Richard? We promised to always tell each other the truth, to be absolutely honest with one another. And then you keep something like this from me-... I'm not sure I can even believe it. Richard," she spoke very slowly, each syllable seeming to shake her, "I can't believe it. I thought we meant everything we said to each other, and now I find out that for you it was mostly true, but there were exceptions. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to take that. You know, when you said it earlier, I would have married you gladly, but now... after you've done this... I can't ..." she broke off helplessly.
There were tears running down her cheeks now. He knew better than to step forwards again, but his arms could not help but reach out a little to her.
"But I only did it because I love you," he told her, not attempting to disguise the pleading in his eyes, "I wanted to protect you."
"I didn't need you to protect me, Richard," she told him flatly, "Especially not like this. Comfort me, yes, but not protect me."
His hand reached out for her still further.
"Let me comfort you now, then."
"Not tonight, Richard."
It hit him dismally. Her tone spelled out that this was the end for them. He had gone too far. He had done the unthinkable. He had broken the absolute trust that she had had in him, and only him. As far as she was concerned, he had done practically the only thing that was beyond the pale. It was over. Still, in his heart, he could not help but hope.
"Tomorrow, then?"
"I'm not sure, Richard."
She turned to go.
"I'm going to go home now," she told him.
What he wanted to say was that this, as far as he was concerned, was her home, time and experience proved that she belonged here with him. But she would want to be alone. At any rate, she wouldn't want to be with him now. He followed her out into the hall.
"Isobel," he called, not caring how desperate and hopeless he sounded, "I love you, Isobel. I always will. I can't imagine myself not loving you."
"Goodbye, Richard."
The door shut with an awfully brisk and final click.
But it's not the end. Please review if you have the time.