I'm honestly so proud of me right now! An update! After only a few days, not months. No. DAYS!

Thank you all so much for your reviews. I loved them and they did indeed make me sit down and write the next part (something funny about that: Just when I had decided to tackle the chapter (and the decision wasn't too easy, because I couldn't decide whom to write first) and was in the process of putting together the playlist I wanted to listen to while writing (yes, there's a playlist and a rather good one, I might add), my grandmother called and needed help with her computer. So I couldn't write it then after all. But I still did it later on. I can't believe it!).

Now, I am aware of the fact that some people might not like me too much for this chapter, because it is not what some of you wish for. Patience, the next chapter will finally be what you're waiting for.

Anyway, enough ramblings for now. Have a nice read!

Disclaimer: I find it really impressive, how some people write proper, official-sounding disclaimers. About how they don't own the stuff, how there's no copyright infringement intended and the whole shebang. I mean, is there really anyone here who believes that I want to steal the characters and make money with this badly written ramblings? In case there is: No, I don't.

I love my wife; I really do. I'm proud to say that I had married for love. Contrary to most people my age who decided to get married again, I had not simply settled for a companion - no. I had married for love. And how could someone - anyone, really - not love Isobel Grey, former Crawley?

The first thing I had noticed about her, were her eyes. They sparkled so very passionately whenever she talked about something she cared about. And Isobel cared about many things.

The more I got to know her, the more I learned about her, the stronger I was pulled in by her warmth and her devotion. Isobel, my Isobel, was just so incredibly… warm. There was no other word I could think of that would manage to capture the essence of my wife more accurately.

Naturally, I also found her attractive. Again, who wouldn't? I wanted her to be my wife. I wanted this woman to share the rest of my life with me.

And at first I had been sure, that she wanted the same. I had been sure, that she loved me, just as I loved her. When she accepted my proposal, when she finally said that she really wanted to marry me, I was beyond happy. I had managed what so many people failed to accomplish.

When she pressed for a wedding in winter, I had been convinced that it was due to her wanting to become my wife as soon as possible. Granted, I did not want to get married in winter. I would have waited until the summer or spring at the very least, but since she wanted it this way, I was more than willing to agree.

Admittedly, I did not like lilies decorating the church, either. Lilies were for funerals. Who wants to showcase the flower of funerals during a wedding? Should this have made me question her intentions? It didn't. I did like the way the church looked in the end. Therefore, I saw no reason to complain.

I think, the love in a relationship is never evenly distributed. There is always one who loves the other more, always one who cares more about the relationship than the other party does. Quite frankly, marriages in our circles are very seldom about love. Usually, they sign a contract. They assure ongoing wealth and stability. That's why I did count myself to be so very lucky. Not only had I managed to secure a marriage based on tender feelings for another person, I had, furthermore, believed to have found someone with whom I shared an equal kind and amount of regard. I had believed to have been proven wrong in one of my basic assumptions about life: There were relationships in which both partners held an equal measure of affection for the other.

It turns out, my initial assumption had been right, after all.

It had nothing to do with Doctor Clarkson himself. I couldn't claim to know him especially well, but I believed he was a decent man and a formidable doctor. It really had nothing to do with him and it certainly was not his fault. Why then, did I hate him so much?

"Now, hate is a very strong word." I heard my mother say in my head. "People of our circles do not 'hate'. They resent, maybe detest something. Hating is for the lowly people and even they do it rarely. Humans are not made for hate." I heard her in my head and it made me smile. As a good child I had always believed what my mother told me. Whatever she said was right and for most of my life I found especially the words she said about hate to be true. I remembered them often and tried to live by them whenever someone or something angered me. I had never hated someone in my life. Not once. And now, at the age of 72 I suddenly did. I hated him with a passion. I still do. And it angers me! Why did it prove so hard to accept that he was my wife's friend? I had known that they were friends before I married her. I had known before I proposed! Why had my high regard for the man turned into hatred in less than a month?

You know why, Richard., a voice that sounded suspiciously like my mother said in my head. Why was it that she was the one who talked to me in my head?

You resent him, because he is taking her away from you. You've really never been good at sharing. That might be true, but I damn well shouldn't have to be 'good at sharing' in regards to my wife! I shouldn't have to share her with anyone! And a doctor no less. She was a lady now, Baroness Merton and despite that the person she spent most of her time with was the Doctor?

Truth be told, 'spending time with him' might have been the wrong way to phrase it.

Doctor Clarkson had fallen ill and quite gravely so, I believe. And my wife had run off as soon as she was told that he was not well. This in itself had not angered me and it had also not made me question her love for me. It was something that friends do. When one becomes sick, the other one makes sure that they are alright. I had assumed that this would be what she would want to do. It wasn't. What had made me doubt her love for me was her staying with him for a over a week without contacting me once. Wasn't this something that spouses did? Weren't marriage partners supposed to let the other one know how they are at the very least? Weren't they supposed to inquire after their partner's wellbeing in the case of separation? She had not contacted me. Not once. This was what made me hate him - "Resent, my dear!" -; this knowing that she was with him even though we had only been married for just barely two weeks; this knowing she took care of him even though she was supposed to care for and about me; this knowing she had chosen him over me. All of those things weren't really his fault, especially since he was in no condition to do anything about it. (I had been told - not by my wife - that he had just recently awoken from a very deep and apparently fever-induced sleep.) It was, however, so much easier to hate him than to doubt Isobel's love for me. As long as I could make myself believe that it was his fault that she was with him instead of with me, I would not have to consider the possibility that I was simply not enough.

If our roles would have been reserved, if she had married him - I shuddered to think about it! - and I would have fallen ill, would she have come to me as she had run to him?

She wouldn't have. This voice sounded like my own voice and it appeared painfully resigned. She wouldn't have come to you and if she had come, she wouldn't have stayed as she does with him now.

For a second that could have also been hours, I wasn't sure, this thought made me pause. As soon as my subconsciousness had voiced this fact, I realised that it was true. With this realisation came a profound hurt accompanied by a certain sense of tranquility and peace. After only two weeks of marriage I was certain that my wife had married the wrong Richard.

Was she aware of that fact too? And if so, did she regret marrying me? I did not want her to regret it. I wanted her to be happily married to be, I wanted her to believe in the both of us as a union. I wanted her to love me.

You can't change this, now, can you? No. No, I couldn't. So what are you going to do about it? Was there anything that could be done about it?

"Humans are not made for hate, they are made for love. It is your task to make people love you. People who love you are easy to lead, which, in turn, makes you and the estate successful. You can make anyone love you, my child. Anyone." My mother's voice was back in my head. For the first time in years I remembered how she used to end her speech about hate.

You can make anyone love you. Anyone… That included my wife. I could make my wife love me.

The question that remained now, was how to go about it.

First of, you have to get her back here and away from that Doctor. She belongs here not in Downton. Yes. That sounded sensible.

I would get her back. I would fight for her and my marriage. I would make her realise that she had married the right Richard. I would make her love me. I would show her that she had married the perfect gentleman. I would send her flowers, buy her gifts, take her on trips. Anything, to make her see just how lucky she was to have married me.

But first things first. I had to go to Downton and get her away from Doctor Clarkson.

God, how I hated that man!

"Resent, child. Resent!"

TBC... (there you have it.)

I don't know how you think about it, but I really like this chapter. I don't know why but I do.

Please leave me a review if you can find a minute. Knowing what you people like (and don't like) about the story helps me sit down and keep writing.