Thank you for kind reviews. I agree, we need more isobel & Dickie stories. Feel free to share yours! :-)

Thie story is kind of running away with me, so let me know what you think!

Chapter Two

3 days earlier

Isobel didn't believe in coincidence and she blamed it on Violet Crawley. After all these years of countless afternoon teas the older woman's merciless look at the world had finally rubbed off on her. Isobel had spent the last hour opposite a woman she had never met before, someone she had instantly mistrusted and disliked. The circumstances reminded her a bit of Amelia, but while Amelia had played the role of the nice and plain daughter-in-law, Annabelle Kent didn't pretend to be someone she wasn't. Annabelle didn't have to pretend anything. She was who she was and Isobel wondered how Annabelle had orchestrated their encounter in the middle of the day in the very centre of York while she and Dickie did their Christmas shopping. They had just left a toy shop where they had bought gifts for the Crawley children when Dickie had stopped in his tracks, because he had detected Annabelle near the contiguous bookshop. Between soft snowfall and the sound of enthusiastic Christmas Carols Dickie had introduced her to Mrs. Kent.

"Isobel, this is Annabelle Kent. She's an old friend of the family."

The old family friend had looked at Dickie as if he were her personal ghost of Christmas Past. In her eyes flickered a mixture of admiration and barely contained attraction. Instinctively Isobel had intensified her grip around his lower arm and had leaned closer against him.

"How very nice to meet you, Mrs. Kent."

This had happened one hour ago and now she was sitting with Annabelle and Dickie at the same table while they shared the afternoon tea.

Isobel only half-listened and faked a smile here and there, while she was busy watching them and trying to understand what exactly it was that connected them. Dickie didn't seem particularly enchanted by her, but his keen interest disturbed Isobel nevertheless. Charming and considerate as always Dickie listened to her story, but it was the mention of Annabelle's daughter that really aroused his curiosity.

"I never knew you had children," he said and Isobel did her best to ignore his not well-hidden astonishment.

"A lot of things can happen in 35 years," Annabelle relied with a coy smile. "Helen's husband, Alain Rouquette, is the new head of the company. He's just marvellous. Have you ever been to Canada, Lady Merton?"

The abrupt change of subject caught Isobel off guard. "No. No, I'm afraid not," she answered quickly.

"The two of you should visit us. It's like Europe… only on another continent."

Dickie laughed. "So I've heard."

"What brings you to England?" Isobel asked. "After all this time?"

Annabelle hesitated with her answer. "I had to take care of some old family business." To answer to Dickie's questioning gaze she added, "My brother died a few months ago. He lived here in York and left no family. There wasn't much to take care of, but I felt the need to come back for one last time." Again she gave Dickie a smile that caused Isobel's blood to freeze. She cleared her throat and reminded Dickie about their invitation at the Abbey this evening.

"You're so right, Darling," he agreed and suggested, "Annabelle, why don't you come to Downton and visit us at Crawley House?"

"Crawley House?" Annabelle asked. "What about Cavenham?"

"Larry and his wife are living there," Dickie explained, avoiding eye contact with Annabelle for the first time.

"Larry was your oldest, wasn't he?" Annabelle asked.

"Yes."

"I take it he's still very much Ada's boy."

"He is," Dickie confirmed. "And I'm afraid we must go now." Disturbed by Annabelle's last remark and relieved the meeting was over, Isobel bid Annabelle goodbye.

On their way back to the car, Dickie didn't say a word and Isobel decided not to ask any questions before she was sure how to phrase them.

After their return from dinner at the Abbey, Isobel and Dickie settled down by the fireplace in the drawing room. The snow fall had intensified during the last couple of hours and Isobel welcomed the warmth of her home. Tired by the events of the day she removed her shoes and took the brandy Dickie had poured for with a grateful smile.

"So when will you tell me more about you and Mrs Kent?" She asked, after Dickie had settled down next to her. She snuggled up against him and rested her head against his shoulder.

"What do you want to know?" He asked in an uncharacteristically quiet voice.

"Everything you don't want to tell me," Isobel answered bluntly.

Dickie laughed, but it was a bit humourless. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. "I'm not sure it is a story I wish to share with anyone."

A shiver ran over her spine and she swallowed. His steady reluctance to talk about Annabelle scared her. And every time she got scared, she became stubborn. "I am your wife," she said. "I had to sit with her at the same table and you invited her into our house without asking me. I think I deserve the truth."

"Of course, I see your point, but I wish you would see mine too," he said. "There are things in life no man wants to share with his wife."

"Try me. I'm not like every wife."

He chuckled. "That's true." He reached out and his hand came to rest on her thigh.

"Please," she begged him quietly. "She was your mistress, wasn't she?"

He frowned and removed his hand from her leg.

"I'm afraid that description wouldn't do any of us justice."

The deliberate lack of physical contact made her uncomfortable and she swallowed. "So, how would you describe it?" She asked.

"I would say, we've been very close for a long time."

"A long time?" Suddenly she wasn't sure she wanted to hear what he had to say. Her chest felt too small to tame the racing heart within it. With every rushed heartbeat an unexplainable fear spread within her whole body.

"Tell me about her," she demanded against her better judgement.

Dickie sighed and gave in. "I've met her when I was 18," he explained. "My father thought it was my time to become a man. She was 16 and both of us were afraid of what would happen once we were alone."

He fell silent and finished his brandy.

"She was a prostitute?" Isobel asked, almost unable not to laugh. She remembered her own crusade for fallen women. For Ethel, her own housemaid. Annabelle was another, and much better example for a woman who had fought her way out of a brothel and into society. Annabelle, the survivor, the fighter. Annabelle commanded respect from her - and Isobel hated her all the more for it.

"Yes. Are you disappointed in me?" He asked, fear clouding his voice.

"I guess a lot of young men made the same experience in their youth," she said and it sounded like something she had said a thousand times before. "The question is, for how long did you return to her - and why?"

"I'm afraid it went on till after Larry was born. Ada and I married because our parents wanted us to. We were ill-matched from the very beginning, but neither of our families cared. It was more of a contract than an honest exchange of vows. We tried our best, but after the boys were born we practically lived two different lives. And we did so until she died."

With her heart now racing in her chest and her brain overworking Isobel said nothing and waited for him to continue. She had never questioned him about his marriage before, perhaps because she had been afraid he could tell her that there had been indeed another woman in his life. The certainty of her worst fears being confirmed was not easy to stomach.

"By that time Annabelle was working in a tea shop in Ripon. She later bought the place. As far as I know she met her husband that way."

"I see… you helped her, didn't you?"

He shrugged. "I did my best to be of help. She deserved to have a good life."

"Did you love her?" She asked, staring into the flames. He reached out to take her hand into his. He squeezed it gently and said, "Yes, but not as I've loved you. I've never loved anyone the way I love you."

"I wish you had told me about this before."

"Whatever for? I haven't seen this woman in over 35 years."

"And yet she's here."

"And she'll leave again," he said. With a gentle touch he touched her chin and made her face him.

"There's nothing you have to be afraid of. Just get to know her."

Isobel wanted to argue that she had every reason to be afraid, but she felt too exhausted to phrase her worries.

"I think I need to go to bed now," she said instead. She handed him her brandy and picked up her shoes.

"I'll be right with you," he said, as he watched her leaving the room. She didn't answer and once the door closed, she leaned against it, wondering why she felt betrayed.

*tbc*