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She lay with her hand resting on his chest, her head resting on his shoulder and in the crook of his neck. They were both wide awake, it seemed that they were deferring the exhaustion that probably should have been engulfing both of them by now until later on. Time was far too precious. They had already made love once that night. His arm wrapped around her back, pressing her close to him, a futile attempt to keep her there. Their naked legs seemed, as usual, to have become entangled with each other. It was still the early hours of the morning- it couldn't have quite been three o'clock yet- but there was still light because they had kept two candles burning on the bedside tables next to Isobel's bed. Everything was so quiet and so still. It was difficult to believe that in a few hours there would be all of the activity of departure to be gone through.
It was the first time they'd slept at Crawley House; they had been wary of what might happen if Molesley or Mrs Bird happened to casually mention to someone that Dr. Clarkson had stayed the night but the guest bedroom hadn't been slept in, but now it had reached the point where they didn't care. She had to leave early in the morning, and as far as they were both concerned, they had to have this night together. Let tongues wag. Let shame and judgement come pouring down on their heads like poison. It would take no less than divine intervention to shift them from each others arms before morning.
"Will you be gone until the end of the war?" he had had plenty of time before now to ask her questions such as this, but he hadn't quite ever been able to face it or been able to find the right moment to. But now he had to know, and he had to ask her before it was too late.
"In all probability," she replied quietly, "But," she continued with a touch more optimism, "They're saying it won't be long now. Just one more push and one side will cave in, for better or for worse."
"I hope to God it's not ours," he told her flatly, "Not if you're going to be anywhere near the front lines."
"Even so," she tried to reassure him with a small smile, "Even if the other side does win, nothing would happen to me, I highly doubt that I can be taken prisoner. I'm going to work for the Red Cross, not the B. E. F."
He was quiet for a second, wondering how he could possibly make her understand the all-consuming worry he felt for her at the moment.
"I wish I was as brave as you are, Isobel," he told her.
She laughed softly and genuinely; he felt her chest shaking a little against his own.
"Thank you, Richard, but if it's that you're worried about I really wouldn't bother. I doubt the Germans would see the point in holding a silly old woman like me into custody."
"You're not an old woman," he told her, kissing her hair, "And that's not what I'm worried about. I'm worried about you in case you get hurt."
"And we've been through this before," she told him gently, "I'm not going to be at the front line, hardly anywhere near. As far as I'm aware, they've not dug trenches down the streets of Paris yet."
He was quiet.
"There's something else, isn't there?" she asked, "Something you don't want to tell me about. Come on," her forefinger gently tapped against his chest, "Out with it. What is it?"
He remained silent for a few more moments, not looking at her.
"Richard."
He felt her hand on his face; she was reaching up to gently caress his cheek, watching him patiently and with concern; her eyes huge and dark against the lightness of her loose hair.
"Tell me." She plant a small soft kiss on his jaw, and he exhaled heavily.
"There are a lot of... men in Paris," he finished darkly, still not wanting to look at her.
"And?"
"A lot of younger, more charming, better-looking, cleverer men than me. Who will be all to willing to ease the loneliness of beautiful woman like you."
"I doubt it," she remarked lightly, "And anyway, who says I want anyone who's younger, or better-looking or any of the rest of it?" she demanded of him.
He looked down at her fondly.
"Are you human or are you an angel?" he asked her.
She did not laugh this time.
"I'm serious, Richard," in fact, she looked almost hurt, "Do you really think that I'm just waiting to go away for the first opportunity to be unfaithful to you?"
"No," he told her firmly, "You know I think so much better of you than that. But I also know that I have very little right to lay any claim to your faithfulness."
"Apart from the fact that I love you," she told him, "Richard, to me, and I'm quite frankly surprised that you'd think anything else, once I've said that, I'm yours. Entirely. And it going to take more than a war to change that. Now, is that what you needed to hear from me to stop all of this silly nonsense?"
He nodded slowly.
"I'm so sorry, Isobel," he told her, kissing her forehead and nuzzling her skin, "I should know better than to doubt you."
"It's alright," she replied, her hand relaxing back onto his chest as her body aligned itself once more with his, "I forgive you."
"I just don't want you to go," he confessed, "That's all there is to it. So I keep inventing reasons for you to stay. Is that so wrong of me?"
"No," she stroked her hand soothingly back and forwards on his chest, and she spoke quietly, "To tell you the truth, I don't want to go either."
"Then, don't."
He felt her smile sadly against his neck.
"We both know it's too late for that now. Everything's arranged: the tickets; the rooms. They're expecting me there."
There was nothing he could do but admit defeat.
"I know, I know," he whispered gravely, shifting down in the bed to be able to kiss her neck.
"Oh, Richard."
He heard a sob in her voice. He hadn't realised that she was crying. He drew her more tightly into his arms, pressing his face softly against hers to nuzzle her skin and give her some comfort. His eyes closed against the wave of emotions that threatened to engulf him too as tears fell from her eyes onto his cheeks. She was shaking slightly against his chest.
"Oh, my love," he whispered to her.
"I've been such a fool, Richard. Such a damn silly fool. I'm not brave at all, I'm ridiculous, and a coward. You're right, it's not fair to you that I'm doing this, it's not fair at all. I wouldn't even be going if I hadn't been trying to get back at Cora."
"It's alright," he told her quietly, "You're not a fool, and you're certainly not a coward.
He was holding her so tightly that he could no longer feel where her body ended and his own began. There seemed to be little that he could say, however, to stop her hollow sobs, so he resolved to just hold her, to let her cry herself out until she felt better. Eventually, she fell silent and the stillness of the room resumed again. He leant forward and kissed her lips, hoping that it would soothe her.
"I love you so much," he told her, "And nothing will change that. Whatever happens, you have that at least."
"I know," she replied, "And that's all I really need in the end. Thank you, Richard," she kissed him back, wrapping her arms tentatively around his neck, drawing him to her and shifting her body to press against his, "I love you too."
His hand moved to rest on her lower back. She sighed into their kiss as she opened her mouth to let his tongue explore her.
"How much time do we have?" she asked.
He turned to the clock on at his side of the bed.
"Enough," he replied, pressing his lips back to hers.
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