Welcome back. Here's the next chapter. Thanks to those who left a review. I loved each and every one of them and they do make me smile and encourage me to keep writing this little thing.

And as always, a BIG thank you goes to batwings79 for her endless patience. Correcting my mistakes must be tedious. Thank you!

Disclaimer: Not my characters.

"What are you reading, my love?"

"Hm?" I slowly looked up from the page, marked the end of the sentence with my thumb and closed the book.

Dickie chuckled softly and looked at me with eyes full of happiness. "I asked you, what you were reading."

"Oh just a book Rich – Doctor Clarkson had lent me before… before we got married..." My eyes slowly sank down to my lap where I held the volume.

"Here." he said, pressing a book into my hands.

"What's that?" I asked, opening the book: The Treatment of Diabetes Mellitus with Insulin. My gaze turned back to him so swiftly that I heard the joints in my neck creak and felt my muscles strain. "You… ? I…? What?" It was probably impolite of me to simply gape at him as I did.

"Well..." His right hand went up to scratch the back of his head, as it always did when he felt unsure about something. "I… yesterday at the Abbey, during dinner, you and Lady Grantham were talking about young Mr. Perkins. And … And you said that you were impressed with this new medication they used to try and treat him. And.. Well, I thought you might like the book?"

It wasn't really a question but it wasn't a normal statement either. His voice went up towards the end of the sentence as it sometimes did. Another sign that showed his nervousness.

"You see, they, Macleod and Banting, they just received a Nobel Prize for their discovery of insulin. Two years ago. And well, I thought you might like to read about the insulin treatment. It's what they used for young Mr. Perkins."

I couldn't help thinking that he looked adorable, with his eyes downcast, his right hand still scratching the back of his head and the fingers of his left hand clenching and unclenching aimlessly.

"Of course, if you don't want it, then you don't have to-"

"Thank you, Doctor Clarkson." I interrupted before he thought I didn't like the book. I had been too busy studying him to notice that he needed me to reassure him on this little gesture.

"Thank you very much." As a response, his face broke into a wide and sincere smile.

"I can see that. What's it about?" My husbands voice brought me out of my daydream.

"Hm? Oh, ehm, it's about insulin."

"Why are you reading that? You don't work in the hospital anymore. No need to read up on the new procedures."

He never understood why I liked to read medical journals and books. Even though he, himself, was interested in medicine, he couldn't grasp why I would spend most of my time on the topic.

"Would you rather I did some needlework?" I answered, sounding harsher than I had intended to. I wanted it to come out as a slight joke, however it turned out to be sarcastic and provocative. "We are past that era, are we not?" Usually, I would have ended my sentence with a smile, instead I opened the book and started reading again.

"Isobel, you know that -"

"You shouldn't have married me if you wanted some wifey, someone who always smiles nicely, looks pretty and doesn't use her head." I don't know why I said it. I loved Dickie. Really, I did…in some way…and I knew he didn't think any of the things I was accusing him of.

It grew silent then. He turned back to his desk, taking care of his correspondence and I tried to read again. However, all of the words, that had made sense before and formed sentences didn't connect with any meaning. My mind was distracted.

We often had stimulating conversations about politics, the flourishing economy in the United States compared to England's stagnant growth, religion – anything really. Anything but medicine. His opinions on that matter were so dramatically unfounded. I had spent my whole life around doctors, had worked in hospitals, in France during the war… I knew what I was talking about. I had used some of the techniques that he talked about as if he were an expert.

If you'd accepted 'his' proposal back at the fair you would never be in need of an equal partner for these talks. Those thoughts often swirled through my head. My mind was repeating the same sentences again and again. They all revolved around the same notion: If you'd married 'him'... If you had married 'him'…

"But I haven't..." I whispered.

"What did you say, my love?" My husband looked up from the letter he was writing and once more, fixed his gaze on me.

"Hm?" I shook my head slightly. I really should work on my answers. Saying "hm?" all the time had never been a habit of mine. It shouldn't become one.

"I must have imagined it," he laughed, "I'm sorry, love. You know I don't want you to be any different than you are. Read all you like. I love you for who you are, my intelligent, beautiful wife."

"I'm sorry, too." I answered.

We each turned back to our separate tasks. This time the words had meaning but I was quickly losing interest. Why read a book if you couldn't talk to anyone about it?

You could go and visit Doctor Clarkson, Richard…

But could I really? I hadn't heard from him since the wedding one week ago. To be honest, I hadn't heard from him before that either. Not since the engagement had been announced.

Just another reason to go and visit him.

Would he want to see me?

"How is Doctor Clarkson, anyway? When do you plan on returning the book? You said he lent it."

This time I managed to swallow the "Hm?" on my tongue. "I don't know."

"You don't know how he is or when you are going to return the book?" He smiled again. How could he always be smiling at me?

"Both, I assume. I haven't seen or spoken to him since before our wedding."

"Well, if that's the case we should stop by the hospital soon. I wouldn't want you to neglect your friendship with him just because you are married to me."

Just then there was a resounding knock on the door.

"A Mrs Elsie Carson." the butler announced.

"Send her in."

Slowly, Mrs Carson stepped into the room. She was clutching her handbag in both hands and held it in front of her stomach. She didn't meet either of our eyes.

"What can we do for you?" I asked. For once my voice showed some interest. For the first time that day.

"I wanted to speak to you, Lady Merton. I don't know if it's my place..." She trailed off, her eyes fixed on the carpet she was standing on.

"Nonsense!" I said. "Of course it's your place. Say whatever you want to say." Dickie nodded, understanding that hee could stay in the room, even though Mrs. Carson had asked to talk to me. She didn't seem to mind him staying. In fact, she didn't seem to notice.

"Well, you see, … it's … um..."

I had never, in all the years I lived at Downton seen or heard Mrs Hughes – Carson! - stutter. "Yes..?" I slowly stood up and walked in her direction. It was meant to reassure her. It didn't work. She continued to speak, sounding even more insecure.

"It's Doctor Clarkson. I don't know what to do, who to ask for help. I've tried everything, but he just won't -" Now she was starting to sound hysterical.

"Calm down, Mrs. Carson." my husband commanded, albeit nicely. "What is it you want to tell Lady Merton about Doctor Clarkson?"

Mrs Carson lifted her head and looked directly into my eyes. I was shocked to see them slightly wet. "You see, Doctor Clarkson… he's very ill."

Thankfully, there was a sofa directly behind me for in that moment, my knees gave way.

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