Hello my dear, lovely readers! It has been a rather long time hasn't it? I hope you are as equally excited about the new movie as I am! Anyway, work has been incredibly busy, but as the summer session starts, things are beginning to slow down a bit. I had been listening to "Her Mantle So Green" once again and decided that I better continue this story. It's been on my mind for a bit. As always, please leave a review. Comments are a writer's life-blood.

It was her son's wedding day - a happy day if ever there was one. She sat in the wedding chapel watching her boy. She was so proud of him. Of course, then again, most mothers are proud of their sons. Matthew had become a man that could be admired, so like his father in many ways. He was a soldier that had seen man's inhumanity to man - yet that did not diminish his capacity to love. In fact, in many ways, it strengthened it.

Yes, Isobel Crawley was proud of her Matthew.

I'll just have to share him with Mary now, she chuckled as she watched the couple exchange rings.

Her mind also thought of Reginald. In all truth, he should be here with her now, sitting right beside her. Both parents should be watching their boy wed the woman he loved. If he was there, Isobel felt sure that he would catch her eye. She imagined that mischievous twinkle Reginald would share with her, knowing what they know of life, of love, of what would come to Mary and Matthew.

But, her husband was not there, and Isobel felt a twinge of pain…of memory.

Dickie Merton sat a few pews back from Isobel Crawley - he too awash in a time that had long passed.

He wished his goddaughter and her love all the happiness that he never found with Ada.

He wondered why he had married her in the first place. Ada was a cold woman, more concerned with status and appearance than anything real. His mind recalled very little love between them.

Duty.

That was the attachment they shared.

Duty.

His role at Cavenham required a lady. And, despite her flaws, there was no denying that Ada had been groomed to be a lady.

And Ada had a duty too - to marry well and secure her fortune. It was one that she did not neglect.

His eyes went to Isobel Crawley. He stared at the back of her head, catching the occasional glimpse of her face when she turned to look at something.

She seemed so content - so happy - like a sunbeam that kissed the petals of rose at dawn.

Yes, she was older than the girl that he had met at the hospital so many years ago, but she had lost none of her beauty.

Is she that same girl? The one who was always so forthright, so intelligent, whose opinions rolled off the tip of her tongue so easily. That romantic heroine…

The girl I gave that mantle…

He squared his shoulders. She's probably forgotten all about that by now, but is it worth asking?

Perhaps, it was the romantic nature of a wedding, or his own secret hope, that allowed Dickie to summon up his courage to approach Isobel Crawley.

Cavenham Estate, 1901

"I'm not particularly sure why we must have this great to-do in the first place," Dickie Merton said as he looked at himself in the mirror.

His valet and her maid had just left the room, leaving Lord and Lady Merton alone in their master bedroom.

Ada rolled her eyes at her husband. She sat on an ottoman, adjusting the string of pearls around her neck. "Because we have not played hostesses in quite some time, not since you have come back from the war." She eyed Dickie.

"I still don't see why this party is necessary," he murmured, fixing his bow tie. "It just seems like a great waste. We don't owe these people anything."

"Richard," she admonished, "they are my friends, and, if Cavenham is to maintain any sort of reputation, any dignity in the county, then we must continue to be…well," she hesitated for a moment, "friendly."

"I can think of a great many ways to bolster our reputation in the county without having these lavish bashes you are so keen on throwing," he retorted. "The money could be put to better ends."

Ada stood, facing Richard directly. "And what of the boys?" she stared at him. Her irritation seeped into her voice. "Of your sons?! We have to secure their futures, their places in society. This is the only way to do so."

"Don't bring Larry and Tim into this," Dickie admonished. "You know I love them and want what's best for them."

Ada walked past her husband, grabbing her purse from the cherry wood dresser. "Well, then, you have an odd way of showing it," she snickered.

"There are other ways for them to advance. But…it seems to our kind to be only one," Dickie murmured.

Ada sighed. "We see the world in very different terms - you and I, Richard," she noted. "You married me to uphold the reputation of Cavenham," she continued, "I know this. I understand and accept this. I married you for security, and you accepted that."

Dickie shrugged his shoulders. "So, all we are is a marriage of convenience…" he looked at his wife, taking her hand. "That's never what I wanted," he admitted freely.

Ada pulled her hand away from his. "No," she answered, "you never wanted me." A harsh stare formed across the brunette's face. Her cold, dark eyes met his. "She's married now, isn't she? Happily? So there's nothing you can do. You're stuck in a gilded cage. Like me, in many ways. Do you think I could have married for love?"

He stared blankly ahead. Floored by her frank divulgence. "How did you become so cold?" he asked her.

"Time is a masterful teacher," she replied as she offered her arm to her husband. "Come now, my dear, we must pretend to be a happy couple for our guests."

Dickie accepted her arm and led her down the great steps to the party below.

The perfect Lord and Lady for the great estate.

Downton

Isobel Crawley stood outside Downton, looking over the field. She had yet to enter the big house for the reception. She was just happy to catch her breath for the moment.

She shielded her eyes from the sun's brightness. Yes, she was quite content at enjoying the moment alone right then. Glad to be away from the well-wishers who had nothing but congratulations on her son's marriage.

Sometimes it's just nice to have a break though everyone means well.

Dickie Merton walked up the stone path to the Abbey from the church. When he saw Isobel outside alone, he thought it was a stroke of luck.

He could talk to her without listening ears.

"Ahh, Mrs. Crawley," he said, startling her from her thoughts. "Haven't gone in yet?" He motioned to the Abbey.

"No," she chuckled, "to tell you the truth, I needed the break." She adjusted her hat.

"I'm glad I caught you," he admitted, lowering his voice. "You know…without everyone so nearby."

"Oh? And why is that?" she questioned, searching his face. He was still handsome.

"I just wanted to catch up, that's all," he replied. In truth, he really did not know what to say. "How have you been?"

"Fine," Isobel laughed, trying to diffuse some of the awkwardness she felt in this conversation. "I've had a good life. And you, Lord Merton?"

"Fine," he lied.

Fine - he thought - a word with so many different meanings, so many hidden levels.

"How are your sons?" Isobel asked, not really sure what to say to the man.

"Fine, I suppose," Dickie replied.

"And are they planning on walking down the aisle anytime soon?"

"No, though one is seeing someone." He took a breath, noticing that Isobel seemed to want to return to her son. "Listen, Mrs. Crawley," he began, hoping she would not detect his nerves. "Do you mind coming to tea at Cavenham? It would be awfully good to reminisce about years gone by."

She looked at him, a smile forming across her lips. "Yes," she replied, "I'd think that would be lovely."

A blonde young man in a handsomely fitted suit came bounding out of the Abbey at that very moment. "Mother!" he exclaimed. "There you are. I've been looking for you," he laughed - so happy and cheerful - as if walking on air. "We can't really begin the festivities without you." He took her arm, leading her to the house. "Come Dickie," he added, "Mary doesn't like to be kept waiting."

December 1991

"So, wait, wait, wait, just a moment, Granddad." Matthew paused George Crawley in the middle of the story. "You mean to tell me that your father knew Dickie Merton."

George smiled. "Yes, he did."

"Why wouldn't he?" Liz asked, rolling her eyes at Matthew. "As I recall, Merton was Granny Mary's godfather, right?" She thumbed through some of the old photographs from the trunk, spying one of her grandparents from their wedding. "Granny really was quite the looker," she laughed, holding up the picture to her husband.

"Must be where you get it from," replied her husband Jack, ruffing her hair.

"It stands to reason that Dickie Merton would have been at the wedding," Liz reaffirmed, looking at her brother Matthew.

"So, if Dickie Merton pined for your great-grandmother for so many years," Jack began, having a flair for stating the obvious. "And if he had such a bad relationship with his first wife, then why didn't he marry Isobel right then and there?"

"You don't really get women's hearts, do you?" Liz giggled at her husband.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I won yours, didn't I?"

"Fair enough," she returned.

"So, why'd he wait so long then?" Jack repeated.

"I don't think it was for lack of trying," George began. "But hearts don't heal overnight, nor do they easily forget."

"Do I detect a bit of drama?" Liz asked, her eyes peering out from under her blonde bangs.

Cavenham

Cavenham was a massive estate. It loomed large in its grandeur, but, to Isobel, it seemed cold. The stone-gray exterior showed no sign of life, of warmth, of happiness really.

She rang the bell, and the butler led her to the library where Dickie Merton awaited her.

"Mrs. Crawley, your lordship," he announced.

"Thank you," Dickie replied.

The butler poured them both a cup of tea - an eyebrow raised at Mrs. Crawley.

"That will quite be all." Dickie dismissed him kindly. "Please sit," he motioned Isobel to a nearby wingback chair, rich in burgundy velvet. "I'm glad you came." He smiled at her.

"Yes," she smiled. "It's been a very long time."

"It has," he nodded his head in agreement. "What do you make of Cavenham?"

"Well, it's big," she admitted, looking around the library. Its vaulted ceilings made the space appear even more grand than Downton's. "I'm sure it must take a great deal of time to maintain."

"Not as much as it used to," Dickie admitted. "I find myself rather bored with it these days." He looked out of the window to the grounds below then returned his gaze back to Isobel. "Ada was always more interested in the estate than I ever was."

"It's usually the women who try to make a house a home," Isobel said brightly.

She doesn't understand, thought Dickie. Doesn't know. How could she?

"This place never did really feel like a home - not after my father died," Dickie shrugged, sneaking a glance at the portrait of his father that hung over the fireplace. "And, Ada never really did provide much warmth to the place."

"How sad." Isobel's lips turned down.

"Perhaps," Dickie muttered. "But one cannot change the past."

"No," Isobel agreed, "you can't."

"And how about you? Your life in Manchester? Reginald? I was sorry to hear that he passed away - what about 20 years ago now." Dickie had always wondered about her life.

"18," Isobel corrected. "Heart attack. We were happy, dreadfully so. And Matthew's just the image of him." Isobel's eyes lit up when she talked about her family.

She told Dickie of Reginald's practice, his years in the war, of her years as a nurse, of Matthew's career, and now her hopes of one day becoming a grandmother.

She had a good life.

"I must admit," Dickie answered, rubbing his hands together, "after hearing all that, I am rather jealous."

"Jealous?" Isobel did a double-take.

"Ada and I were never happy. Oh, we had some good years, but we were never, I guess you could say, we were never in love."

Isobel took a breath. She wondered what his life had been like. She wondered for many years.

She decided that it was finally time that she had an answer.

She asked the question that had been plaguing her mind for decades. "Why didn't you see me again after my engagement party?"

Dickie's mouth hung open for a bit.

I guess I should have expected that she would ask me that.

"Stupidity, I suppose," he answered, trying to evade the topic. "But what does that matter anymore? We can see each other now." He poured himself another cup of tea, gesturing if she would like another. She shook her head no. "I've missed you," he admitted.

"Missed me?" Isobel questioned.

You've had forty years to see me - but you never did. You never called. You never wrote. Nothing. You were my best friend. And you did nothing.

In that moment, her face hardened, and her nostrils flared with a sharp intake of breath. "For someone who claims to have missed me, you have an odd way of showing it."

Dickie shut his eyes with that blow. "I'm sorry."

"I miss Reginald. That is what missing is," she said. "Perhaps, I shouldn't have come here," she told herself as much as Dickie. "You said earlier that you knew he died," she shook her head, trying to silence the thoughts that plagued her mind. "But why weren't you there? You could have sent a note of condolence at the very least."

"I could say the same thing about you for Ada," Dickie retorted.

"I did not know Ada had passed. You admitted you knew about Reginald," she shot back.

This is not where I intended this conversation to go. And certainly, I can't tell her what happened during the war – me serving with Reginald – his request - she'd never forgive me now.

"Of course, you're right," Dickie murmured - subdued. "I'm sorry."

"Where were you, Dickie?" she asked again. "There were years we could have been friends. Years lost."

"I know," he muttered.

Take care of her - Reginald's battlefield request flashed across his mind.

I wasn't there, was I?

Isobel really did not feel like talking anymore. This was a mistake, she thought to herself. Too much time has passed to pick up where we were. Sometimes old friendships do indeed die. "I really should be going." She stood. "Thank you for the tea."

Dickie got up to ring for the butler.

"No need," Isobel motioned him to sit. "I can see myself out."

"Oh," Dickie caught her attention. He had to know one thing. "Do you still have that mantle I gave you as an engagement present?"

"No," she lied.