"She's proving quite popular, isn't she?" Isobel remarked happily, looking down into Helen's cot.

Richard, sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea, smiled at her, though she could not see it, her back still turned to him so that she could look at the baby.

"I'd say she is," he replied.

"Everyone's been to see her," she continued, "Even Mary."

"Everyone except Lady Edith," he reminded her.

"Yes, but Edith's in London."

"No, she isn't," he replied, "She came back a few weeks ago now. I saw her at the house the week you found Helen."

"Goodness," Isobel remarked, turning away from the baby at last, resting her hand on her forehead for a moment, "I didn't realise how out of touch I was. Perhaps I should go and see how she is. Or maybe she could come and see me."

"Isobel," he asked carefully, "When was the last time you were out of the house?"

"You know I take Helen for a little walk every day," she told him, "It does me good as well as her."

"You know what I mean," he returned, "When was the last time you were away from Helen for more than half a minute?"

She was quiet for a moment.

"Who else is there?" she asked, rather demandingly, "Who else is going to look after her if I don't?"

"I will," he replied swiftly.

Another pause. She exhaled deeply.

"Richard," she murmured quietly, a frown knitting deeply into the centre of her brow, "I didn't mean for you to have to get involved like this. I brought her to you because I panicked, I was completely shocked, I wanted to make sure she was alright."

"I know that," he replied, "Isobel, I don't mind looking after her. Believe it or not, looking after people is what I do," he added with a wry smile.

"Yes, but playing nursemaid for me is rather different," she pointed out.

"I don't see how," he replied shortly.

She let out another deep breath, gazing out of the window for a moment, her expression distant.

"Isobel, you're tired," he told her, "You look tired."

She looked back at him rather sharply.

"Clinical assessment, not personal comment," he covered himself quickly.

Though she still looked disgruntled, she managed to laugh at his swiftness.

"I could use a night's sleep," she admitted, "Just to get myself at a level playing-field again."

"You know the day will come when you'll have to get used to leaving her, don't you?" he asked lightly.

"Yes," she replied quietly, "I've done this before."

It was spoken with such a softness that it took away any reply that he could have possibly made; he did not know what to say.

"I suppose," she continued, more strongly, "I'm more protective of her than I ever was with Matthew. I want to make up for the fact that someone left her, I don't want her to feel like she's not loved."

"She won't remember it, you know," he told her.

"I know," she replied, "I know I'm being absurd."

"No, that's not what I meant," he explained, "I mean, you shouldn't worry about it; it will be alright, in the end. She will be alright, thanks to you."

She smiled weakly, leaning her weight back against the table where the vase of flowers that Tom had brought her stood.

"I suppose too," her voice wavered just a touch, "I'm trying to make up for not being able to protect Matthew, in the end. I know I can't, but I'm trying."

Their eyes met, and she crumbled.

"Isobel," he stood up, quickly crossing to her side, taking her in his arms, not giving it so much as a thought, "Of course you couldn't have done anything. It was impossible! No one could have done."

"I know," she sobbed, her face against his shirt front, "I know. But I can't help thinking-..."

His hand rested in the middle of her back, her fist curled up into a little ball in the middle of his chest, holding on to his shirt front. He felt her weaken a little against him.

"Isobel, darling, you're exhausted," he murmured.

He heard her hiccough her response, unable to find the words to reply. Quickly, he planted a kiss on her forehead, hoping to revive her a little.

"Come on, you must go to bed," he told her quietly, "I'll stay here for as long as you need me to with Helen."

She looked up at him; her cheeks wet.

"You're sure?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied.

"Thank you, Richard," she told him sincerely, her hand resting on his forearm, her eyes falling shut, "Thank you."

"It's alright, my love-..." he told her.

He was cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing. He heard her give a little sigh of surprise, and gave a sound of frustration himself.

"Who on earth can that be?" he asked rather angrily.

"I'll go," she answered quickly, wiping around her eyes, "If I'm presentable?"

"Always," he told her softly, meaning it.

She through him a broad smile, disbelieving smile.

"Whoever it is, get rid of them," he told her, following her into the hall, "You need to sleep."

"I'll try," she told him, "That can sometimes prove difficult."

Heading down the corridor, she opened the door.

"Edith."

"Hello, Cousin Isobel," she stepped inside the door as Isobel stepped back to let her in, "Oh," she caught sight of Richard at the end of the corridor, "I do hope I'm not interrupting."

"Of course not, my dear, it's good to see you. How was London?"

There was silence for a moment.

"Aunt Rosamund said I should come to see you."

"Oh? Well, I'm glad she did, but why?"

Lady Edith, from where Richard stood, was looking-... discomforted. She was looking almost frightened. Isobel seemed to notice too.

"Edith, are you alright, dear? Would you like to sit down?"

"Cousin Isobel," Edith rather blurted out, "There's something I've got to tell you."

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