This could be awful. Just a warning.

"Richard?"

"Yes?"

Wrapped in the bedsheets and each other's arms, his head rested on her collarbone, tucked under her chin. Though she lay slightly above him, that way that his arms circled her easily and securely meant that he was very much holding her. Their lovemaking of hours before felt as far away as the beach they had walked along the morning before, but there was still something alarmingly intimate in amidst the chastity of their embrace.

"I've finally worked out how to put it into words. Will you listen?"

Turning his head, he kissed her collarbone once.

"Of course."

She took a deep breath, feeling his head rise and fall with her chest.

"I've never told you this, but years ago, before Reginald worked properly as a children's doctor, he was in charge of the Maternity Ward at Manchester General, and before I trained properly as a nurse, I would help him sometimes, just when they were short staffed, changing flowers in vases, sitting with anxious fathers; little things like that. You saw all manner of things there, little miracles were just part of the routine. I saw new life at every turn. And death, sometimes, occasionally, which was awful. I thought it was awful, and I thought the new life was wonderful. At least I thought I did," she paused for a second, moving her arms slightly around his back, touching her chin back to the top of his head, "Then when Matthew was born, and it happened to me, I realised that I hadn't had a clue the entire time."

She paused for a little while longer again, waiting to see if he said anything, though hardly expecting him to question her. He was waiting for her to get to the point, and now that she'd started she would have to go on.

"It's like that now. I thought I'd been in love before, but never like this."

Silent, he waited for her to say some more, but was startled that the next sound he heard was her drawing a quiet sob. Leaning upwards to move and comfort her, he shuffled up past her head, wrapping himself around her as much as possible, drawing her soft hair firmly to his chest and holding her there.

"Richard," she spoke so quietly in between her tears, "It's dreadful, and it's wrong of me, but I have to say it. I wish Matthew was your son. I do, so that he'd be able to accept that I want to be with you. Because that's all I want now, or ever. You."

He waited quietly, wondering if he dared say the question that immediately sprang up- treacherously- in response to her declaration. He waited until the sounds of her soft sniffs had stopped at least.

"Will you let me ask you a question, Isobel? Forgive me asking it, and I will forgive you, whatever your answer is."

He felt her tense as she considered for a tiny moment.

"I forgive you."

"Do you really wish that? Or do you just wish that I was Reginald?" he asked her quietly, "Do you wish you had your husband back for your lover?"

The silence that followed was so pure to the point of it being almost undiluted.

"Oh, Richard," she whispered finally, and he sensed that there were fresh tears in her eyes, "How can you even think that?"

"Don't take this badly, Isobel, but quite easily sometimes."

He held her in his arms all the while, but somehow it felt for a moment as if she was miles away, shut up behind her confusion and her grief and her suspended love.

"Do I completely disgust you?" she asked finally, in a flat voice that conveyed utter dejection, "I wouldn't blame you if you said yes. Heaven only knows what you must think of me."

"You couldn't ever disgust me," he told her softly, "You think you're wrong, and that what you feel is wrong, but you're not, Isobel, you're human. You say you love me, and I believe you. You need to start letting people love you back without feeling this terrible guilt you seem to have. Please don't cry any more. I love you."

He moved to lie down behind her, aligning his body to hers, hands resting on her shoulders, arms lying over hers, as he planted a kiss in her neck and felt her cry the last of her tears off. He held her as the last of her tears shook from her body, burying his nose in her loose hair, closing his eyes against the smell of her skin.

"I love you," he repeated when at last he sensed that she was calmer, morning light was starting to creep through the high windows, "Isobel, I can't live without you," his hand wove down and he tangled his fingers with hers, "Marry me."

It wasn't a question.

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