A/N: I know you guys want the wedding chapter, and so do I! Here's the thing, though ... what I wrote, thinking it was all the wedding chapter, has ballooned into a 5500-plus word behemoth. I have written much of the wedding itself. It's almost done! But I couldn't smash all these ideas together without losing significance. So ... two chapters today from what started out as "the wedding chapter." And then the wedding itself either later today or tomorrow, as soon as it's polished and does justice to Richard and Isobel.
Make sense? Still with me? I do hope so! I never thought my little idea of Isobel in bed waiting for her husband after a long and trying day for both of them ... would become all this. And yet, I love it; am so enjoying giving these two beautiful characters the love JF should have given them. I absolutely thrive on your feedback. We must keep Richobel alive, you guys. Please keep writing. You've all inspired me so very much!
Music this chapter courtesy of J. S. Bach - "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" (this one will show up again later) and Martin Luther - "A Mighty Fortress is Our God."
***Updated 1/27/16 - The songs mentioned herein are available on my Spotify. Search for Username: ericajanebarry , Playlist: Worthy and True. They add to the story.***
On with the show. Renovations and reconciliation, then fluff and pre-wedding goobers.
The next weeks were a flurry of activity. Isobel had taken up residence with Richard at the cottage from the day she lost Matthew, and in the ensuing few months Richard had suggested they replace some of his things, which held little meaning to him, with some of hers, which meant a great deal. There was no great rush to empty Crawley House, but as a wedding present to his bride Richard had hired painters to repaint the interior of the cottage and movers to move his old furniture out and Isobel's in. At first she'd protested ("Richard, this is your home! I love it this way because it speaks of you!"). But he would not be deterred.
"Isobel, it's our home. It has needed brightening up for ages but I never got around to it. It's so dark in here, and you're so bright and vibrant. Let me do this for us."
Isobel had acquiesced, and they'd discussed which of his things should be kept and which of hers to move down. He advocated for tossing all of his furnishings, but there were pieces of his that she loved. In the end they kept his dining table at her insistence. It was a pine trestle table that Richard and his father had built. There were two benches that went with the table. They kept one with it and moved the other into the entryway. Isobel brought in six sack-back Windsor dining chairs for the ends and other side of the table. When Richard pressed Isobel for her preference in paint colors, she suggested a very pale yellow for the downstairs, which was mostly one common space with the exception of Richard's office. He suggested they paint out all the dark wood paneling in white.
"Richard," she'd sighed, "it's not a bad thing if the house retains a few masculine touches. I welcome them, you know. My life has been bereft of them for far too long." But alas he'd convinced her when he painted a small section of the wall in their chosen yellow and an equally sized section of woodwork in white. She had to admit that the colors looked lovely together and brightened up the atmosphere considerably.
In addition to the dining chairs, the pair brought in Isobel's master bedroom furniture, as Richard preferred it to his and the bed was bigger. At this he had given her a suggestive look and she was thrilled and more than a little gratified. They also pulled in a settee and armchairs from her drawing room at Crawley House, and Richard had personally brought down Isobel's vanity during her first week at the cottage. He requested that they paint the bedroom in a shade of blue similar to her drawing room. She'd agreed to the color but suggested they choose a lighter shade as the bedroom was smaller and had fewer windows.
All in all, the house was coming along nicely and, if she were honest, Isobel was tickled that it was becoming theirs. She temporarily cut back her hours at the hospital, keeping closer to home as one of them needed to be present in order to give the workers access to the house. It was more idle time than Isobel was accustomed to or, at least initially, comfortable with. It was the first time since Matthew's death that she had spent alone with her thoughts and memories of him, and for a few days she found herself as deeply in mourning as she'd been just afterwards.
On her fourth day of sequestration, Isobel sat down at Richard's piano. She had taken lessons as a girl and had done quite well, but there hadn't been a great deal of opportunity to play in recent years. Bach was the first thing that came to mind. She had known "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" off by heart once ... could she remember it now? It came back to her gradually, so that by the time she located the sheet music she had little need for it. It had always been her favorite piece of music, and when her spirit was in need of realignment she had always run to it. Once she could play it through, she sang along. At first she cried through it, but then it brought her hope. That was how Richard found her that afternoon. She was oblivious to his coming in and once he heard the music he did not announce himself for fear she would stop playing. He stood in the doorway to the sitting room, transfixed. When she finished, he watched her swipe at a tear with the back of her hand. It was then that he made his presence known.
"Hello, Isobel," he said. She rose from the piano bench and turned toward him with a smile. He held his arms out to her, wrapping her up tightly as soon as she was close enough for him to reach.
"Hello, Richard," she said softly, palming his cheek and pressing her lips to his. As he looked into her eyes he could see that more tears had been shed that day than he had witnessed.
He kissed her thoroughly, content to be back in her arms after a long day. She gloried in the feeling of his strong arms holding her, his embrace so warm and enticing. "How is it I didn't know you were musically inclined?" he asked, a proud smile on his face.
She shrugged against him. "Hasn't been much call for it. I can't say what came over me today, but it was rather cathartic."
"Ah, so that explains these." He traced the tracks of tears on her cheeks. "That was beautiful, my love. And I saw you weren't reading the music, which tells me that this piece has a special place in your heart."
She nodded. "My most favorite. It always has been. It's always served as an encouragement to my spirit when I'm in need of ... redirection."
His eyes widened as he understood, his hands finding hers and lacing their fingers together, lips pressing against her forehead. "Did you make peace today?" he whispered.
"I'm beginning to," came her soft reply. "Of course the process of grieving is not a straight line, but yes, there's reconciliation taking place now."
"Play it again?" he asked, holding her gaze. "For me?"
Isobel looked surprised, her cheeks coloring slightly, but she assented. Richard wanted to share in what she loved. He had been her conduit for healing since Matthew's death, but he had recognized a void in the process; one he couldn't fill. She was finally ready to face the God she had felt forsaken by, and music was the means by which she would find rest for her soul.
"All right," she agreed. "Sit with me?" His heart felt as though it might burst at her invitation. He was about to witness something so sacred in its intimacy that he knew he would come away a changed man.
Isobel sat down at the piano once more, Richard to her left, and began to play again. Richard's eyes darted between her fingers on the keys and her face, upturned, eyes closed. He had never seen her look so serene. She played it through a few times and the last time she sang along. If he had thought she was beautiful before, the sight and sound of her singing praises to God though her heart was broken elevated her beauty to ethereal in his eyes. A thought came to him, one that he resolved to see Lady Edith about at the earliest opportunity.
She finished playing and dropped her hands into her lap. She looked at Richard, letting him see the fresh tears in her eyes. He brought his lips to her cheeks, kissing them away.
"That was incredible, Isobel," he said earnestly. "Will you play something else for me?"
Isobel was caught off guard. "Well, I ... I suppose. This is another favorite, though you must forgive me if I don't do it justice. I've not practiced this one and it's far more difficult than the Bach piece." She shuffled the sheet music until she came to "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God."
"Ah, Martin Luther. I must say, my darling, your tastes in music are superb, though it's not as if that should surprise me," Richard said.
Isobel smiled. "I'm glad to discover that you share them," she said, and kissed him. Her heart thrilled at the chance to share with him something so precious to her. She played the hymn, singing along with it. Just before the last stanza, she whispered to Richard, "This bit is going to catch me up."
That word above all earthly powers, no thanks to them, abideth;
The Spirit and the gifts are ours through Him Who with us sideth:
Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also;
The body they may kill: God's truth abideth still,
His kingdom is forever.
She fell into his arms as she finished, crying openly though for only a few minutes. He lifted her chin when the sobs quieted and saw that sweet, peaceful smile once again. "My Isobel. Thank you for sharing this with me. You are so brave, sweetheart. Bitterness would have been easier, but you're doing the right thing."
They made dinner together that evening, as they had come to do most evenings. It was something else Isobel discovered she loved. She had always known her way around a kitchen, but had agreed to take on a cook when she and Matthew came to Crawley House because it pleased her son. Now she was delighted to resurrect the recipes she loved and to learn Richard's favorites. If she were completely honest, what she truly loved was working alongside Richard ... the easy conversation, their hands brushing as they reached for this ingredient or that, his lips finding the back of her neck as he stepped up behind her while she stirred a pot on the stove. He reached around in back of her to grab a spoon and she surprised him, turning around and capturing his lips in a deep and hungry kiss. Caught flat-footed, he moaned into her mouth before he could stop himself.
"Oh, my Bel," he whispered, his voice rough with desire. "You're playing with fire, love."
She fixed him with a saucy look and when she spoke, the tone of her voice matched it. "In this instance I cannot wait to get burned."
On the night before the wedding, Richard and Isobel went to dinner at the Abbey. Isobel had cried that afternoon as she packed a bag to stay the night. She had spent every night in Richard's arms since Matthew died and the mere mention of a night away from him brought to the surface an ache deep within her heart. Richard had watched her, himself nearly in tears at her anguish. He hadn't realized it would be so heart wrenching for her, but then she hadn't either. She looked up at him, her big brown eyes pooling with tears. "This is ridiculous, Richard! I am a grown woman. It is one night away from you, when I'll have you every night thereafter for the rest of our lives. I feel so ashamed, crying like this! What is wrong with me?!"
Richard had sat down on the bed, beckoning her over. When Isobel sat down next to him, he pulled her into his arms. "Isobel, you do not have to spend the night at the Abbey. It's only a formality, love. It has no bearing on tomorrow. If you stay it will not change a thing except to feed the family gossip mill, and we know you don't give a damn about what they say."
"I'm going to do it, Richard. The young Ladies have designs on dressing me in the morning and just once more I do long to be the subject of such sisterhood. Only I suppose I hadn't realized just how quickly I've grown accustomed to sleeping in your arms. Whether or not I sleep for just one night is inconsequential, it's the fact that I need you. You see I seem to have a peculiar history of losing the men I love ... " Her words ceased as her voice broke.
Richard felt tears prick the corners of his eyes and drew a breath. "Darling girl," he said softly, "if my words fail to comfort you now, I pray that the conviction behind them will. Neither of us knows how many are our days, but you see I can't help but think that we have lasted this long because we were meant to spend the remainder of them together. As far as it depends on me, you will never know this kind of deep loss again. No more death, Isobel. Ours is a life beginning anew, and while I have never thought it wise to rely on intuition, I can't deny that I sense that our years together will be many."
"And I will make certain that you know, each and every one of our days, how deeply and utterly I love you. It's arresting, Richard, this love. I have loved, and been loved, so thoroughly in my life, but nothing ... nothing compares to this." Isobel found it difficult to breathe around the lump in her throat and she lay her head on his shoulder while he held her.
"Embrace it, Isobel. Don't allow it to invoke fear. We have been given this gift to enjoy. As surely as I can, I promise you that I'm not going anywhere, not without you."