Chapter Six

With his coat open and despite the freezing temperatures outside and a gasping Sergeant Willis on his heels Dickie entered the hospital in desperate search for Isobel. Willis had tried to assure him that she wasn't badly injured, but he needed to see with his own eyes that she was all right. With his mind fixed on his wife Dickie almost ran down Dr Clarkson who just came out of a treatment room. He was wearing a blood-clotted apron and wiped his hands in a towel.

"I'm so sorry, Doctor," Dickie apologized half-heartedly. "Where's Lady Merton."

"She's in my office," Clarkson answered and added quickly. "She's fine - well, more or less. It's your driver that causes me worry."

"What about him?" Dickie asked aghast. He had completely forgotten about his chauffeur and instantly felt a sting of guilt.

"I'm not sure. Seems he has at least two broken ribs. One bone might have penetrated his right lung, but we don't know that for sure yet. We have to make an x-ray first."

"Oh my God. Please, do whatever you can and keep me posted!"

Without waiting for a reply he stormed off. Willis, suddenly feeling redundant and still out of breathe, stayed behind and exchanged a dumbfounded gaze with a passing nurse.

Just as Clarkson had told him, Dickie found Isobel in the Doctor's office. Flustered and with her right foot bouncing on the floor, she was sitting in a chair.

"Isobel!"

"Dickie!"

She wanted to rose onto her feet, but he rushed to her and carefully pushed her back into her chair. He pulled a second chair next to hers and sank down. With uneasiness he checked out her appearance. She was pale and there was fresh cut and a bruise on her forehead. Her right wrist was bandaged and as he touched her other hand he noticed how cold her skin felt.

"How are you feeling?" he asked concerned.

"I'm fine, well, I will be," she answered, but her voice was shaking. "Doctor Clarkson says my wrist is sprained. It's poor Proctor I'm worried about."

"They will do whatever they can," Dickie said, knowing it was only a small comfort. "What were you thinking? Going to York in this weather?"

He immediately regretted his question when he saw how crestfallen she looked. "I wanted to talk to Mrs Kent," she admitted. "I didn't even plan to stay away for so long, but then I met Helen and…"

"You met Helen?" he cut her off. "She's here? I mean in England?"

"Yes," Isobel confirmed, eager to tell him about her encounter with the young woman who, she was convinced of, was his daughter. "I had tea with her and…"

"You had tea with her?" he asked in utter disbelief.

"Yes… Oh Dickie, I'm so sorry! I should have told you, but you were so unhappy that I wanted to do something."

Overwhelmed by his love for her he stroked her cheek and kissed her mouth. His anger about her single-handed actions faded like snow in the sunshine. She leaned against him and he ran his mouth over her face up to her uninjured temple.

"I love you," he whispered gently. "But no excursions on icy streets anymore!"

"I'll try to remember that," she said, causing him to chuckle.

"Can I take you home now? Or does Clarkson want to run any more tests?"

She shook her head. "I'm free to leave."

"Good." He offered her his arm and together they left the Hospital to go back to Crawley House.

Later that evening after Isobel had taken a bad hot and had a light supper she lay in her bed, torn between physical exhaustion and inner unrest. She was rereading the letter she had tried to write, but felt she was too tired to finish it tonight. Her whole body was aching, especially her sprained wrist, but the events of the day kept repeating themselves in her head over and over again.

So far she hadn't told Dickie anything about her meeting with Helen, because he insisted she took her rest, but she feared he was still shocked about the fact that his daughter was not in Canada, but actually in York and therefore much closer than he had expected. Helen's presence certainly complicated the matter. Certain that Larry was the real reason for Helen's sudden presence in England, Isobel realized that the time to think about a way to separate the lovers for good was running out. Isobel accepted it was hard for Dickie to come to terms with the recent developments, but his personal sensitivity on the matter couldn't play a part in this.

She heard footsteps in the hallway and Dickie's hushed voice as he spoke to his valet to bid him good night. She quickly hid the written pages under the covers and waited for him to enter the bedroom. He had changed for the night and carried two glasses of brandy.

"I'm not sure it's what the doctor ordered, but I thought you may want one," he said as he put the glass on her bedside cabinet.

She gave him a grateful smile and took his hand. "Why don't you sit down?"

He did as asked and made a toast. "To you - my reckless wife."

"Don't make fun of me!" she scolded him and he gave her kiss on the cheek.

"Clarkson telephoned a few minutes ago," he reported when he pulled back. "Proctor's been out of surgery. He'll about and about in a few weeks. He was lucky."

"Thank God!" she drew a deep breath and took a big sip from her brandy. A bit relieved she leaned back into her pillow. The alcohol had the warming effect she had hoped for.

"And before Clarkson called, I talked to Tom. He and Henry towed away the car. Tomorrow he'll know if it can be repaired. I guess, it's quite handy to have a car dealer in family after all."

Despite the good news, Isobel didn't feel like joking. "I feel like a fool," she admitted. "But in a way it was almost worth it."

Uneasy with the upcoming subject, he swallowed and avoided her eyes. Sensing the moment had come, she put her glass aside and leaned forward. "I think you should meet Helen."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"I think it is like it is," she said gently. "You'll be pleased to hear that Helen is quite nice. Actually, she's very witty and charming. I like her."

"Do you?" he couldn't hide his surprise.

"Yes. She's everything Larry isn't, so I'm not sure what she sees in him - not that we talked about him," she added quickly when she saw his horrified expression on his face.

Dickie returned her remark with a groan. "I don't even want to think about it!"

"I know, but unfortunately we have to and we have to do so soon. Imagine Larry decides he wants to leave Amelia… what if Helen gets pregnant?"

"Don't you forget the tiny fact that Helen is married as well?" he asked back.

"That's just it… what Annabelle didn't tell you is that Helen's husband is about 30 years older than she is. Helen didn't say it that explicitly, but her marriage is more one of convenience than of love. Annabelle's husband arranged the wedding, because he wanted to make sure his company is in safe hands after his death. Listen, I'm not sure what kind of game Annabelle is playing, but she's the one who's been reckless here. I'm sure she's hiding something."

"Perhaps it's my fault. I didn't give her any chance to explain herself, after she told me…"

"Well, in that case she could have made the effort to explain herself better than she has," Isobel argued and added, "And I'm not just saying this, because I'm jealous."

The admission brought a smile onto his face. "Are you?"

She lowered her eyes, almost sheepishly. "I am… just as any wife would be who learns that her husband's former lover is in town."

"I'll try to take that as a compliment that's meant to boost my fragile ego."

"You may…"

He leaned in to kiss her. First softly and then with growing desire, but afraid he would drop the subject completely if she allowed them to get carried away, she broke the kiss. "Will you meet her?"

He sighed, but as she had hoped, it was a sign of surrender, "Why do I have this feeling that you already made a plan I have no say in?"

She gave him a smile and kissed his lips. "You know me so well."

"I'm almost afraid to ask what you suggest..."

"I think it's time we gave a little dinner party...for your old family friend, Mrs Kent and her daughter."

He gave her a puzzled look, "Are you serious?"

"Yes, and I'm sure Cousin Violet will be happy to join us…"

"Lady Grantham?" He looked at her as if she had suggested he climbed the Himalaya in nothing but his dressing robe.

"You can't be serious! She'll have a field day! She'll rub it "

Isobel chuckled. "She probably will, but she won't tell anyone about it."

"Just tell me you haven't already written the invitations."

She bit her lip, tried not to chuckle, and showed him the written pages she had hidden under the covers.

"I'm afraid with my sprained wrist my handwriting isn't the best… Perhaps you could write them? Tomorrow?"

"You grant me one night of reprieve?" he asked and took the pages from her. He read them with narrowed eyes and shook his head when he had finished.

"Only because I want you to come to bed with me right now," she said and lifted the blanket on his side of the bed. Gladly accepting the invitation he slipped under the covers and welcomed her with open arms, as she snuggled up against him.

"You have cold feet," he informed her.

"I hoped you could warm me up," she said and kissed him.

"I'll do my very best, Isobel Grey."

***tbc***

I hope you enjoyed this after all the angst I put you through ;-)