In the end it was a small, but none too quiet affair. The ceremony took place in Downton Village Church, with the reception straight afterwards in the village hall. The band were engaged to play at the request of the bride and groom and much to the delight of their young relatives, and the younger servants from the big house, who had also been allowed to attend. There had been talk of a grand affair up at the big house; but Isobel would not hear of it.

The bride did not wear white. Choosing the material her dress, Isobel had thought about it, but then realised there really was no need to pretend; everyone knew that she had a son for heaven's sake! Anyway, she was bound to make a mess of white. Instead, she chose a pale cream, speckled all over with little blue flowers; and had it made into a dress to suit the modern fashions- with loose bodice, mid-length sleeves and calf-length hemline. It was quite a brave idea and she had heard Cousin Violet remark later on that it was just like Cousin Isobel to get married in a dress that looked like a set of curtains. But she knew it had paid off in the only way that mattered: as she had entered the church on Matthew's arm, she had seen Richard's eyes light up all the way from the other end of the aisle.

They led the first dance together, his hand resting softly at her waist, their hands clasped tightly together as the band played Roses of Picardy. Isobel rather suspected that Sybil had had a sly word with the conductor, and she was very grateful for it. If now she could erase all of the sad associations with this song from Richard's mind, then it was almost worth them having existed in the first place. She rested her head on his shoulder as he lead her around the dancefloor, inhaling the scent of starch from his collar mixed with the unmistakable smell of him. It was wonderful to be able to openly be together like this and not need to care about it. His cheek brushed against the softness of her hair.

"I'm so happy that I have you," he whispered so that no one else could hear above the music, "My beautiful wife."

He held her left hand, and could feel the cool of her new ring against the inside of his fingers. Her head lifted from his shoulder and she watched him as they continued to dance slowly, smiling.

"I love you so much, Richard," she replied, her thumb soothing over the back of his knuckle as she turned her face inwards to kiss him on the cheek, "I'm so glad that we've finally done this, after everything."

"Yes," he agreed, "But perhaps it took everything that's happened over the past few years to make me realise that I can't live without you."

Her hand slipped from his shoulder to the back of his head, pressing him closer to her, even as the music broke apart and the other pairs broke apart to applaud.

"Well, you don't have to now. Ever."

By the end of the occasion it was only Lady Violet left in any doubt that the bride and groom had married purely on the grounds of absolute, all-consuming love- Violet still insisted that there had been an element of "necessity" about it.

They were not leaving for their honeymoon just yet; they had decided to wait until it was warmer and go to Paris for a few weeks in the early summer, and come back in time for Matthew and Mary's wedding in the August. Richard and Isobel retired to his cottage; which from that night forward was to officially become their cottage. It had been decided by all of them that Isobel would be best moving out of Crawley House in preparation for Matthew living there with Matthew when they married later in the year; and Isobel was all to happy to comply to any solution that meant she could live alone with Richard with immediate effect.

When they reached their bedroom, she was still wearing her wedding dress. The gas lamp was turned to a low and peaceful ebb as he sat down on the bed for a moment to remove his jacket; and she stood at her dressing table, taking off her beads and her earrings.

He watched her admiringly with her back turned to him: the graceful curve of her bare neck, the glint of the light on her hair, the way the dress sat so perfectly on her shoulders. She was all the beauty he could have ever imagined or wanted as she glanced over her shoulder and smiled to find him sitting there watching her.

"Richard."

"Isobel."

She had already taken off her shoes, and she walked gracefully towards him to stand between his knees, his head at the height of her bosom, as he nuzzled her breasts through the silk; his hands moving swiftly over the hooks at the back of the dress. He lifted his hand to caress her face as the dress fell from her shoulders. She stepped back for a second, stepping out of the dress properly and hanging it over the back of the chair.

"I'll keep this dress until the day I die," she told him, stepping back into his arms, resting her own forearms on his shoulders as he leant in to kiss the curve of her breast over the top of her corset.

"Even after what Lady Violet said?" he asked, jokingly raising an eyebrow.

She laughed; resting her face for a second against his hair and allowed him to gently tilt them until they lay beside each other on the bed.

"So you heard her too, then?" she asked him.

"Yes, I did," he replied, taking in the sight of her simply lying there beside him, their arms each outstretched to hold onto to each other, "My beautiful, curtain-wearing Madame Bovary."

She titled her head back as she laughed again.

"Oh, Richard-... Richard!" she half-moaned, half-exclaimed as he surprised her by leaning forwards to kiss the base of her neck.

In doing so, his body moved so much closer to hers, so that they lay chest to chest and he was close enough to whisper in her ear:

"Isobel. My Isobel," his hands moved to her waist and he heard her whimper as he took her earlobe briefly into his mouth before continuing, "I want to undress you until all you're wearing is my wedding ring."

"Oh, Richard," he felt her fingers fumbling hastily with his tie as he reached around her body to remove her corset.

Her skin was flushed and beautiful as she revealed it to him, allowing his hands to roam her body freely while she busied herself with removing the rest of his clothing. Finally naked together, they knelt on the bed facing each other, kissing each other senseless; when he finally whispered against her lips.

"Lie down," he commanded, "Let me touch you."

She complied willingly, though pulling him down with her to keep kissing. Lying between her legs, his hand caressing up and down the inside of her thigh, he listened contentedly to the sound of her moaning, blissfully close to his ear so that he could hear every hitch in her breathing.

"Richard-... Richard I want-..."

"What?" he asked, his fingertips pressing as lightly as possible against her excitement, giving her the barest taste of pressure, "What do you want?"

She struggled with her laboured breathing, as he pressed a little more firmly against her.

"Just ask for it, my darling, and I will give it to you," he told her quietly.

"Take me," she begged, her head thrown backwards as he started to massage gentle circles against her nub,"Oh, my love, take me now."

He surged forwards, filling her in one motion, sinking himself into her up to the hilt. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs around his waist and he understood that as the signal that she was ready for him hard and fast. He withdrew from her and sank back in repeatedly, over and over, until he felt her body jerk and fold beneath his, her hips vibrating as she cried his name out. He could not hold back, and let go himself, flooding her, every nerve in his body zinging with the feelings their union created. He felt his own breathing, deep and uneven as he collapsed on her body; unaware of any thought but her. The first thing he noticed as he returned to blissful, weary, exhausted consciousness was the cool of her wedding ring resting against his shoulder.

The End.

Thank you! for sticking with me for so long; I really hope you have enjoyed it; I have loved writing every word of this. Please review if you have the time.