In Need of a Wife

Chapter 1

Isobel shifted uncomfortably in her chair while she was watching Doctor Clarkson's heavy-handed handling of his afternoon tea. She was either mistaken or the good old doctor was unusually nervous. From the moment he had set foot into Crawley House he had been wavering between curious half sentences and spilled Earl Grey. He hadn't behaved like that since he had tried to propose to her at the fair about 3 years ago - the very day she still wanted to erase from her memory, because it was the day Matthew had died. That afternoon Richard Clarkson had been drinking too much cold punch. On this Thursday afternoon he looked just as nervous, but at least he seemed sober. Hopefully being sober was the indicator that he wasn't attempting another proposal she had to scotch. The last thing she wanted was an atmosphere between them.

"A little bird told me, you'll go away for the weekend," she said cheerfully, hoping to establish some sort of innocent chit chat.

"Ah…," Clarkson cleared his throat and his cheeks coloured. "That bird must have been Nurse Hopkins."

"It was Nurse Hopkins," Isobel confirmed with a smile. "It's been ages since you've been away. I hope you'll enjoy it. It's certainly the best time of year for a little trip." She pointed at the beautiful magnolia outside her oriel window.

Once more Clarkson spilled tea over the rim of the cup. Exasperated with himself he put down the saucer. "That's about it, Mrs Crawley. I wanted to ask you a favour."

"Oh." To say she was surprised was an understatement. He usually hated involving her in anything concerning the hospital. He hadn't been happy with her appointment as almoner and even less with her support for the merger with the hospital in York. "Do you want me to take care of anything while you are away?"

"Not exactly." Now he was moving restlessly in his seat.

"Do you want me to water your flowers?" she joked, perfectly aware that there was a housekeeper who took care of these things.

He shook his head, slightly amused by the idea. "God forbid, no."

"So, what is it? Just say it. I'm sure I can stomach whatever task you have envisioned for me."

The colour of his face turned into a deep red and for a second she feared he would collapse with a heart attack. He didn't collapse though. Instead he took a deep breath and said, "You see, Mrs Crawley, this weekend I'm going to meet some old friends of mine who invited me. One of my former classmates from university. His name's Sir Leander Ward. Perhaps you've heard of him?"

Isobel shook her head, slightly confused by the direction their conversation was taking. "No, I don't think so."

"Oh… Well, I thought your husband and Leander may have crossed paths…"

"Not that I know of."

"Anyway, Sir Leander has invited me to a houseparty on his estate near York this weekend."

"How generous of him." She still had no idea where this was leading and she slowly came to the conclusion that she didn't want to know. The way Clarkson was sneaking around the bush made her suspicious.

"It is… in a way. You see, Leander and I never got along during our years at university. We've nurtured some sort of functioning feud so to speak."

"And now he wants to patch things up? That's a good sign, isn't it?" she wondered.

"You don't know him," Clarkson said as if that would explain everything. "You see, he's married to Winifred MacDonald… she was once betrothed to me."

"Oh…" She started to understand. "So, you don't feel very comfortable…. Meeting them?"

"Not exactly. You see, our breakup was rather ugly and I'm afraid Leander still carries a scar from that night right on his left temple." Clarkson leaned forward, eager to tell more. Now that he had started spilling out the truth he seemed to feel less constricted and his body language showed.

"But what's all of this got to do with me?" Isobel wondered.

"Last month I met Sir Leander in London. It was a coincidence but we had dinner and talked things over. It was a… good evening. After a bottle of expensive port Leander's invited me for this houseparty," Clarkson said.

"That sounds like a successful peace negotiation."

"In a way, yes. You see, Leander's invited me, but also Mrs Clarkson, my wife of two years."

"But there's no Mrs… Oh no." The penny finally dropped and Isobel shook her head. "You told him you're married… to me?"

"Not exactly to you… just to someone…" He preferred not to mention that he had indeed chosen her first name when he had spoken of his "wife".

"And now you want me to…"

"Just for the weekend," he said quickly.

"What a mad idea!"

"I don't know what got into me," he said, his hands raised like a shield of defence. "I was drunk and he was constantly rambling about his success, his marriage, his even more successful children and I lost it and told him I was finally married myself."

"Doctor Clarkson!"

"I know." He leaned back. "I know… and you're right, but I truly need your help!"

"I won't help you! Not with this. I would rather cut you open and take out your liver!" The saucer and cup clashed on the small table between them and she rose.

"Well, you might as well cut me open and allow me to bleed out," Clarkson said. "If I cannot present them a wife this weekend, I'll be a laughing stock to them for the rest of my life."

Isobel was speechless, possibly for the first time in her life. "I wouldn't ask, if I had any other choice," Clarkson added. "It's only for the weekend. We'll have separated rooms. You won't even have to talk to me, if you don't want to."

"Well, I don't want to talk to you right now and look where I am." He looked truly crestfallen and Isobel almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

"I'll make it up to you," he promised.

"Forget it, Doctor. I won't do it. I won't pretend to be your wife, not for one minute."

"Is that your final word?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "It is."

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Dinner at the Abbey was a small affair of five that evening. Aside from Robert, Cora, and Tom only Mary and Violet were present.

"Wasn't Isobel supposed to be here tonight?" Mary asked while she picked two pieces of cauliflower from the tray Andrew was offering her.

"She was," Violet confirmed, a bit miffed her best friend wasn't around. "But she declined on a rather short notice."

"Has she fallen ill?"

"Isobel ill?" Violet raised her left eyebrow in a way only she could.

"It happens," Mary declared. "Think of your own cold last month."

"She's not ill," Cora tossed in. "She's preparing to go away for the weekend and didn't have the time to come to dinner tonight."

"Did she say where she's going?" Mary wondered. "It's been a while since she took a trip."

"Now that you say it… she hasn't said where she's going," Cora said. "But it's just for the weekend."

"Perhaps she's seeing a suitor," Mary suggested with a snicker.

"Why on earth would you say that?" Violet asked exasperated. "Wasn't it enough that Doctor Clarkson and Dickie Merton were frisking around her skirts for the last couple of years? I doubt she needs a mysterious suitor from out-of-town to amuse herself. Everything she needs is right under her very nose."

Cora and Robert exchanged amused glances and Mary could swear she saw an amused twinkle in Carsons' eyes.

"Well, why not?" she asked. "Speaking of Dickie Merton. I met him in the village this afternoon. He's told me he's also going away for the weekend. Apparently an old friend is giving a houseparty near York. What a coincidence."

"How interesting," Robert mused. "Let's face it's time the two of them get a grip and patch things up."

"I agree," Cora said. "I still resent Larry for breaking them up."

"I especially resent him for breaking them up at our table," Robert added. "If he ever sets foot into this house again, I'll get my shotgun."

Tom smirked. "If I get my hands on him first, you won't need a gun to get rid of him."

"Hear, hear," Mary said and raised her glass. "It's good to hear some things never change."

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're all talking about." Violet said and shook her head upon her family's verbal antics.

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