A/N: I have so many mighty, powerful women to thank for inspiring this chapter and encouraging me to write it.

My sweet sister, for sharing her losses so openly and vulnerably with me.

My powerhouse grandmother, with whom I share a connection akin to that which Isobel had with her mother. She has lived and lost, and watching her grieve after the death of her youngest was the most heartbreaking thing I ever hope to witness. But speaking to her about it just last summer was the most healing, hopeful conversation I have ever had. She inspires much of my characterizations of both Isobel and her mother.

My girlfriends; the women of faith whose examples inspire me to grow when it would be easier to stay stagnant.

Lastly, to ChelsieSouloftheAbbey for not just beta, but encouragement. Such an amazing writer whom I am so blessed to have met!

I should add that this chapter is very heavily M at the end. Loving, married, hurt/comfort M.

Music credits this chapter: "Ever Be," Kailey Heiligenthal/ Bethel Music

***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.***

~ejb~

Your love is devoted, like a ring of solid gold
Like a vow that is tested, like a covenant of old
Your love is enduring, through the winter rain
And beyond the horizon, with mercy for today

They were alone together once more on the train back to Downton. Richard had some reading to catch up on, medical journal articles he'd been putting off. They sat in close proximity in spite of all the space available to them, Isobel with her feet in Richard's lap and a blanket over her legs. She was seeing an aspect of his personality that fascinated and puzzled her at the same time. He seemed to need the tactile nearness of her. When he wasn't holding her hand, he was rubbing her stockinged feet or brushing wayward strands of hair out of her face. But inwardly he had retreated into his mind, and she could see him gaining physical strength from the quietude. The long silences would have caused her anxiety if she had not been able to see him looking so content.

For her own part, Isobel was happy to watch the passing landscape, and soon found herself lost in her own reverie as she allowed memories from their last several days to surface. She must have become as absorbed as her husband, and eventually she became aware of him speaking her name.

"Isobel?"

"Hmm? Oh, Richard, I'm sorry …"

"Where were you just now? You seemed a million miles away."

She smiled, leaning close to press a kiss to his cheek. "I saw how happy you were, lost in thought and reading, and I suppose I let my own mind wander. I can see why you enjoy it."

He returned her smile and lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it. "And whither did you wander, lady love?"

She blushed at his endearment. The act of openly expressing affection one for the other was marvelous, but it was an experience long-suppressed for Isobel. He did not miss her reaction and treasured it up in his heart as yet another captivating peculiarity of hers.

"Oh, far and wide, to be certain," came her reply. "It'll interest you to know that most recently I was thinking that you were correct." She gave him a sidelong glance, a smile quirking at the corner of her mouth.

"Ah, is that so?" He responded with amusement, just as she had expected he would. "You know you are rather well suited as my wife, Bel. You do wonders for my ego, all joking aside."

She moved to sit next to him and leaned into his shoulder. "Wonderful," she whispered in his ear. "Heaven knows you are long overdue for someone to appreciate you for the remarkable man you are."

This time it was Richard whose cheeks flushed red, he every bit as unaccustomed as she to plain-spoken tenderness. "Accept it; you're a giant among men," she whispered once more, quickly kissing the corner of his mouth.

He pulled her close, his arm wrapping around her. "Goodness, woman, you'll have me getting a swelled head if you don't stop. But all right, I'm intrigued; what is it that I'm correct about?"

"In your letter to me on the night before the wedding, you guessed that I may have embraced elements of your heritage so willingly because I had Scots blood myself. And you're right. Isobel Fiona; it couldn't be more Scottish, could it?" He shook his head, and in his eyes she registered a nearly giddy excitement.

She continued. "My mother was Scots. Fiona Brigid MacAlister. And oh, was she a beauty! Raven-dark hair, radiant fair skin, and those eyes! Your eyes; Matthew's eyes. George's eyes. You've all got them; that piercing blue that cuts to the heart. It goes without saying that I don't favor her. The shape of our eyes is the same, but otherwise I resemble my father. But Matthew! My God, did he look like her!" Isobel cast her eyes downward for an instant, momentarily feeling the loss of her son. But her sadness vanished just as quickly as it appeared. Richard watched her emotions run the gamut from delight to despair and back in the space of just a few seconds and was struck dumb at her resilience.

"Anyhow, Mum was Scots, and proudly so. She spoke to us – to my brother and me – in Gaelic as well as in English when we were very young. My most treasured memory of Mum was her singing the Psalms to me in Gaelic. In so doing she inspired in me both a deep reverence for the Word and a love of music, the great hymns. And she was forever reading Burns. Once I started school she no longer promoted conversing in Gaelic, but I retained some things."

"So the things you say to me … I have a kind of hazy understanding of most of them. I remember she called me a leanabh. My child; my love. And while I never heard the most private things she said to Daddy, she was not shy about expressing her feelings for him. They regularly called each other mo gradh … mo chroi … mo mhuirnin. I understand a good bit, but I couldn't carry on a conversation now. But Richard …" She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. "I'd like to be able to speak to you. It's a beautiful language, and there seems to be no end to the ways in which to express love."

Richard could not have hidden his joy if he'd tried. His arm still around her, he squeezed her tight. "I can teach you, Isobel. It won't be difficult for you. I think you'll find your understanding is better than you realize."

"I'd love that. The culture, the traditions, the language …they're all deeply ingrained in my soul. So your vows were much more to me than simply romantic parlance. You spoke directly to my heart on many levels."

"I'm so relieved that my instincts were right," he replied. "Marriage certainly seems to agree with us. I'm discovering more differences between us than similarities - despite the common heritage - but you've been most gracious in allowing me my eccentricities. And I'm working to become more communicative and give more credence to intuition."

She gave him a quick peck on the lips. "It's not always going to flow so easily," she said gently, "but you're right about our adaptability. I'd say we owe it to the fact that - as you so brilliantly put it once - this is not our beginning. We were building toward this for longer than either of us realized. It's a firm foundation, and it will most definitely see us through the difficult times."

She let her proclamation rest between them. There was no need to disillusion him with regard to the nature of marriage. She knew he would ponder her words over and over again, and she hoped he'd easily recollect them when hard times came.

"Tell me more about your mother," Richard urged. "You fairly glowed before when you were speaking about her. I'd love to know more about the woman behind my Isobel Fiona."

Isobel's countenance lit up again, and Richard regarded her with awe. He would forever treasure the expression on her face in this instant.

"She was - she is - the single greatest influence upon my life. She was the middle child of eleven, if you can believe that, from a Protestant family in Manchester by way of Glasgow. Her father was a solicitor ... I suppose that's how Matthew came by it. Daddy inherited his medical practice from his father. The MacAlisters were the Turnbulls' legal counsel. When Daddy was in medical school he assisted clerically in his father's practice, and Mum - she was rather a pioneer, and every bit her father's daughter - assisted her father in the law office. Mum would have studied law if it had been acceptable for women to do so. She was sharp of wit and tongue, and the more she and Daddy interacted professionally, the more taken he became with her personally." She paused and glanced at Richard with an ironic grin. "Rather like the two of us, I suppose."

Richard brought her close and kissed her forehead in agreement.

"They married in a blaze of glory that never flamed out. It caused a bit of upheaval in Mum's family, as she had several older sisters who expected to marry before her, but the rift was not long-lived, as Mum was the darling of the family - the great unifying force among all the siblings - and their beloved Fiona's joy was contagious."

Richard watched as Isobel shook her head and smiled, obviously lost in a precious memory.

"If ever there were any two who loved with as much intensity as we, it was Mum and Daddy. Their life together was not without its share of hardship, however … particularly as it pertained to having children. My brother, Edward, was born twelve years before me, after more than five years of trying to no avail. In the years between us Mum suffered four miscarriages and delivered stillborn twins. It was a series of devastating blows for Mum, whose own mother never had difficulty bearing children. And though Daddy was a physician of some renown, he was helpless to find a solution. So little was known then - so little is known still today - about the reasons behind these things. And, sadly, Mum's difficulty seems to have been heritable. That's …" she trailed off for a moment, turning her face skyward and blinking back tears. She inhaled sharply, letting the breath out slowly to steady herself.

"That's ancillary to Mum and Daddy's story, and I know you're going to ask me later and I will tell you, Richard. Suffice it to say that Reginald and I knew that kind of heartache as well. It was never our intention that Matthew should be an only child." Richard pulled her tight against him and she pressed her face into his shoulder, overcome with raw emotion.

"Oh, Isobel," he whispered, himself close to tears. "I always wondered why you only had Matthew, when you seemed so perfectly suited to motherhood. Oh, my darling girl, I'm sorry." He brought her to sit across his lap and she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He rocked her gently, whispering to her of his love; that she was safe with him.

Isobel breathed deeply, able to hold the tears at bay thanks to Richard's tender consolation. After some moments she lifted her head to look into his eyes. They smiled sadly at each other and she pressed her lips to his, her kiss needy. Richard answered her hungry mouth with his own, and they kissed until Isobel pulled away.

She resumed her story where she had left off. "Daddy and Mum were rather like Abraham and Sarah in that when Mum fell pregnant with me, she was forty. Seven years had elapsed since their last loss and they both assumed my brother would be an only child. They were incredulous as the pregnancy progressed. Mum was incredibly ill - bedridden, actually - and she went into labor at twenty-eight weeks. Daddy was able to disrupt it several times, but at thirty-five weeks her water broke and there was no turning back. Daddy had wanted to name me after Mum, but she insisted upon Isobel … 'consecrated to God,' because it was only by His grace and providence that she and I survived.

"So Mum and I were always thick as thieves. If there is any good in me, it's by her guiding hand that it's there. And she and Daddy were a beautiful portrait for Eddie and me of the divinely-orchestrated purpose of marriage. They exemplified equanimity in a day and age when the societal disparity between marriage partners was even greater than it is today. Do you know … Daddy never made a decision without fully considering Mum's point of view first, which was simply unheard of back then. And Mum always advised Daddy selflessly and after much prayerful consideration. It wasn't until after I married Reginald, when contemporaries of ours began to appear far less suitably matched to their spouses, that I began to understand that Mum and Daddy's marriage was in any way exemplary. I had always simply assumed that theirs was the way it was done! But how fortunate I was in that regard! I never knew that I should expect anything less than a true marriage of equals, and I got it. Twice!"

"I love you," Richard interjected, as it seemed the perfect time.

Isobel graced him with a radiant smile. "Oh, my darling man, I know. And I love you."

Isobel slid off Richard's lap to curl against him on the seat, tucking her feet underneath her. Richard gathered her against his chest. "So how many years were your parents married?" He asked as he smoothed her hair. She relaxed into him, sighing because the story was about to take a dark turn.

"Daddy was sixty-five when we lost him. Mum was sixty, and they'd been married thirty-seven years. We consider sixty-five a respectably long life - though the nearer I approach it the more I beg to differ - but it was the manner in which he died." She paused, shaking her head as if to shake away a dreadful memory.

"I assume you've read Rudolf Virchow's explanation of pulmonary emboli?" She asked. Richard nodded, and then his shoulders sagged. A pulmonary embolism was an excruciating way to die.

"It was certainly the case that Daddy had lived a full and influential life," Isobel said, the pain in her heart evident in her voice. "It's just that he was the very last person we'd ever have expected to die. He was so full of strength and vitality; healthy, as far as we knew, and yet … Mum and Daddy had breakfast together in the morning. Eddie was out of the office all day on house calls. Reginald and I were due to cover the afternoon shift, but Eddie came by the house asking Reggie if he had reviewed a particular patient file. Reggie wasn't familiar with the case, so he went early to the office to review the file. He found Daddy lying on the floor unconscious, gasping for breath. He got him over to the hospital quickly, but there was no reversing the condition. Essentially it was as if Daddy drowned, as the blood clot completely obscured the pulmonary artery."

Isobel clung to Richard, needing his warmth. He stroked her hair as she tucked her face in against his neck, her lips on his pulse point. He's here, she reminded herself. He's here, he's real. He's with me. It's all right.

"Isobel, you don't have to tell me any more if it's too painful," Richard said gently as he rubbed her back.

She lifted her eyes to meet his and shook her head resiliently. "No, it's all right. Everyone endures hardship. We all felt the loss of Daddy acutely, but Mum … do you know how, in Hebrew culture, it was the custom to tear one's clothing and cover oneself in ashes and wail when mourning the loss of someone dearly beloved?"

Richard nodded.

"That was not far from Mum's reaction to Daddy's death. If it's been difficult to watch me grieve for Matthew, I assure you it doesn't begin to approach Mum's level of heartbrokenness. Of course it hurt me that my father was dead, but what hurt more was watching Mum grieve. Eddie had to insist that I stay away from her for some time because she and I were so close that I felt her pain as well as my own. I would look at her and burst into tears because she was so broken, and it wasn't allowing her to heal."

"But she recovered, didn't she?" Richard asked. "Surely a woman of such strong faith and constitution must have found her way."

Isobel smiled despite the sadness inherent in her story. Richard was taking what he knew of her own character and ascribing it to her mother. And he was correct.

"She did. You've heard of crying out to God. You've probably even seen me do it. And so did Mum. I haven't been afraid of the times I've begged Him to take me; just let me die, because I watched her do it. I also watched her scratch and claw her way out of the deep darkness and find a reason to live again. She had Eddie and me, and I was just twenty and newly married. Eddie had a wife and five children, so Reggie insisted that Mum come and live with us. She assisted with clerical work in the medical office, she poured herself into loving Eddie's children, and she became more vital to me than ever before once Reggie and I began to have difficulty starting a family."

Richard eyed Isobel cautiously. While as her husband he needed to know about this painful aspect of her past, he was concerned about the toll of its retelling upon her emotional well-being.

Isobel read the concern in his eyes and smoothed her palm across his cheek. "I'm all right," she assured him with a whisper. "Just hold me and I'll be alright."

Richard drew her closer yet, keeping one hand moving on her at all times as he alternated between kneading the muscles at the small of her back and smoothing over the length of her arms. "Tell me, darling. I've got you," he soothed.

"It almost feels inappropriate to interpose this here, as it's Mum's story I've been telling," she said, but Richard shook his head.

"Your lives were so very closely intertwined," he argued. "It's still Fiona's story in that she must have relived her own pain while watching her daughter suffer. You said that when your father died, you hurt more for your mother than you did for yourself. I'm sure her experience in this case must have been similar."

Isobel nodded. "Yes, it was. Very much the same." She drew a deep, steadying breath and continued. "For as passionate as Reginald and I were, it wasn't surprising that we found ourselves pregnant two months after the wedding. We were thrilled! Oh, yes, we were young and still very unaccustomed to living under the same roof, making decisions with the other's best interest at heart, sorting out our differences in an edifying manner and all that. But it seemed fitting that while we were adjusting to so much newness, we would welcome a life that our love created. Sadly, it was not to be. I was about four months gone and had just reached a point where I was feeling strong, the sickness having finally dissipated. I awoke one morning with stabbing pain in my abdomen. The bleeding began shortly after. So much of it. You know, there are times when having your husband as your personal physician is sheer hell. Reggie knew exactly what was happening and he was powerless to stop it. He and Eddie nearly came to blows over how to handle it. Eddie was pushing for a hysterectomy and Reggie refused, knowing it would mean an end to our dreams of having children before we'd really even begun. Reggie had more extensive training in obstetrics than Eddie despite the fact that Eddie was older and had been in medicine longer. Reggie had read extensively about James Blundell's successes in transfusing women with postpartum hemorrhage and had seen it succeed several times during his training. The long and short of it is that Mum gave blood, my husband and brother transfused me, and I survived more or less intact. But our baby …"

Isobel had spoken with a kind of clinical detachment as she recounted events, but when she made mention of the baby she lost, her eyes filled with tears. Richard held her face in his hands, kissing her cheeks and wiping her tears away. "It's all right, my precious Isobel. It's all right … I'm here."

She kissed him when the tears stopped flowing. Kissed him and kissed him, alternating between sweet and hungry, needing to cling to something vital and warm and alive after so much talk of death and loss. Being in his arms, feeling him there in the moment with her, was a balm for her soul. As she rested against the solid warmth of him she recovered her own physical strength.

"So you see, Richard, when I tell you that marriage can be difficult, I speak from experience. I was twenty years old, married six months and I'd lost my father and our first pregnancy. Reginald and I both leaned heavily upon Mum to help get us through that first loss. She made it clear to us that the many losses she and Daddy suffered served to bring them closer, rather than drive them apart, because they communicated clearly and honestly about their feelings. I'm happy to report that she was right, and that because Reggie and I suffered such a devastating loss so very early on, we essentially began our marriage communicating well.

"Unfortunately, that was far from our final such experience. A year later I was pregnant once again, and since we both knew the signs we found out very early on. This time it was an earlier loss - approximately ten weeks - and more akin to a very heavy and painful monthly cycle. It was no less emotionally harrowing, however. I was twenty-one years old. I had always been the picture of health. Why, then, couldn't my body do what women's bodies had been doing for thousands of years? I spent so much time crying in my mother's arms. I'm sure her heart must have broken. I was the baby she had struggled so hard to have, and I was facing the same hardship she had. But she prayed when I had neither the strength nor the desire. I felt forsaken. I raged. She was my rock."

"She was an extraordinary woman, Isobel. I know it with all certainty though I never had the privilege to meet her. I know it because her daughter is equally strong and steadfast and full of grace." Richard kissed her forehead and she looked adoringly into his eyes.

"Oh, Richard, she would have loved you! She would be the first to tell you that it's no easy task to love me, and she'd have great admiration for your tenacity. If your heritage hadn't sold her on you, your devotion to me certainly would have!"

"You said the second miscarriage wasn't your last. What happened?" Richard asked.

This time Isobel's response was to smile. "Thankfully, Reggie and I were granted a temporary reprieve. Matthew was our next pregnancy, and for all the heartache and difficulty of the previous two, this time there was only joy and delight. Once we passed the point at which we lost the first, we breathed a collective sigh of relief and enjoyed it. Surprisingly I loved the changes in my body. I know most women don't. I'm sure Reggie's appreciation of my appearance went a long way toward my confidence. It was a difficult delivery. I labored for three days and was nearly too exhausted to push when the time came. But Mum gave me a thorough dressing-down, and I gathered what remaining strength I had, and Reggie delivered his son! As soon as he had Matthew weighed and measured and cleaned up, Reggie passed him off to Mum and came to me. We held each other and just wept. Of all the intimate moments we shared over the course of our marriage - and there were many - that's one of my most treasured memories."

Richard regarded the expression on Isobel's face, thinking it must have been very similar to the way she looked when she finally had her son alive, healthy and in her arms. He found himself wishing, just for a moment, that he had been there, that it had been their story. Their child. He did not begrudge Reginald Crawley one moment of the twenty years he and Isobel had shared. But how he would have loved to see her belly swollen with his child; to feel the changes in her physique, the quickening of new life against the palm of his hand. What he would have given to hold her in his arms as she nursed their little one. But he tucked those thoughts away. They were not for now, when she was so graciously unguarded before him with regard to her agonizing past. He caressed her cheek.

"You have the look of a blissful new mother now as you tell the story," he said with admiration. "I'm so happy to know that there was a respite from all the pain, Isobel. Even if it didn't last."

She moved her hand atop his where it rested against her cheek and turned her face into his palm, placing a kiss to the center of it.

"It was just that, absolute bliss, for a long time. Mum was smitten with Matthew of course, and Reggie was a wonderful father. Matthew slept well, nursed well - and oh, did we enjoy that - and added so much to our lives. Of course we may have been more appreciative of his presence in our lives because he was so hard-won. Our struggles quite possibly made everything that came after look easy. Whatever the case, the first five years were a dream.

"Just before Matthew's fifth birthday I fell pregnant again. We were cautiously optimistic, hoping that Matthew had reversed the trend of loss. I was far more ill than I had been with Matthew and it never really subsided, which was a challenge as I tried to keep up with an active young child. At thirty weeks I mentioned to Reggie that I hadn't felt movement for a whole day. He listened for the baby's heartbeat and couldn't find it, but he didn't tell me that until after he'd asked Eddie to listen and Eddie was also unable to detect it." Isobel's eyes filled with tears, several of which spilled over. Richard was there to wipe them away, but he remained silent, knowing there were no words that would soothe her. There would be no happy ending to this portion of the story.

"I had experienced loss before, and I've gone on to experience it again since, but there is no real equivalent to the pain of knowing you must deliver a baby whose eyes will never open; who will never take a breath this side of heaven. Reggie couldn't do it. He tried, but in the end it was Eddie who delivered our little girl. She was a perfect little angel, with Mum's beautiful coloring and delicate bone structure and impossibly long, dark lashes. Too beautiful for this world, Mum said. I remember the pain acutely. My body going through all of the usual postpartum changes, and no baby to show for it. Breasts that filled and ached and no one to feed. Leaving the hospital with empty arms and having to tell Matthew that the baby sister he had longed for had gone home to heaven instead of coming to live with us. And then I have no memory. I shut down. I went to bed and stayed there. Apparently I was so despondent that there was a question as to whether I'd survive. Dying of a broken heart sounds like exaggeration; a literary device at best. But I've seen it happen and I know you have as well."

Richard nodded and laced his fingers through hers.

"The next thing I remember … Reginald's tears falling on my face. His words haunt me still. 'Jesus, Isobel, I can't lose you. Not you! As much as I love our children, I love you more than all of them. Don't you leave me too. It's you I can't live without.' I remember waking up out of my stupor. Holding him, apologizing profusely for having left him, the two of us crying together until there were no more tears. I learned from that hell, Richard. I learned that running from pain does nothing but compound it. My wonderful husband would have seen it through with me. He did, and we were stronger for it in the end. But I hurt him. He thought I had abandoned him and, while he forgave me, it wasn't until well after he died that I was able to forgive myself for it. My mother had been right when she warned us after the first loss that the worst thing we could do was stop communicating with one another."

"So that's the reason you're so adamant that the two of us communicate well," Richard interjected.

"Yes, darling. Now do you see that I truly do speak from experience when I tell you that there is nothing the two of us cannot endure so long as we talk to one another? If you think I push you to speak when you'd rather keep silent, that is why, Richard."

"I understand, Isobel. And that's why I think the timing in which we came together is actually advantageous to us. We've had no choice but to communicate openly as you've grieved for Matthew."

"I agree with you there, but over the years, Richard … Before we were together, we did a rather poor job of saying what we meant. We've quarrelled senselessly. I've failed to heed your counsel and you've shut me out on many occasions. Surely you won't deny it."

"I make no such pretenses, Isobel. But everything is different now. We've committed to see this through together, and I understand that it means sacrifice. You are worth any price, beloved. I won't do it perfectly, but I will make my best effort to tell you everything you need to know."

Isobel inhaled a great, deep breath and realized that she had talked for so long that they were now only minutes away from arriving in Downton. She was wrung out; emotionally and physically spent from revisiting so much of her life's history. Now she had an appreciation for the way that talking exhausted Richard, and she felt a little sorry for coming down so hard on him about communication when it wasn't likely the case that he didn't desire to do it well. He was simply cut from a different mold than she, but he was willing to bend to meet her.

"That is all I can ask, my love, and so much more than I deserve. You have my word that I will, in turn, encourage you gently to share your heart with me, and show you grace those times when it doesn't come easily. I've just spent hours talking, and while you would think that would be energizing for me, there are so many deep emotions attached to those memories that I am positively knackered just now. If that is what you experience, I certainly can't fault you if you're sometimes reluctant to speak."

As the train pulled into the station, they stood to gather their belongings and Isobel wrapped her arms around Richard's waist.

"Take me home, darling. Nothing sounds better to me than a quiet evening in your arms."

When they arrived home, they were pleased to find that Tom had lit a fire in both the sitting room and the bedroom. Isobel found a vase full of white roses on the table and a note from Elsie.

Welcome home, Dr. & Mrs. Clarkson!
I trust you will find that Tom has kept the house well in your absence. I've put fresh linens on the bed and taken your laundry for washing. I'll return it tomorrow. Mrs. Patmore has sent over a hamper with dinner and I've placed it in the coldbox. Isobel, I am dying to hear of your adventures in London! Let's arrange a time to go for tea in Ripon next week.
Love and Congratulations to you both,
Elsie

Isobel grinned as she read the note. She retrieved the hamper from the coldbox and removed the contents: a hearty beef stew, fresh-baked bread and plum pudding for dessert. She put the food in the oven to warm and stood in the kitchen, taking in the sights, sounds and smells of her home with a new appreciation. Home. It was home, because it was hers and Richard's. Because it was looked after with love in their absence by friends and family. Love, she realized. Richard was right. Love makes this house a home.

She found him sitting in his favorite armchair by the fire. He was reading this morning's paper, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. She approached him and he looked up, smiling fully when he saw the satisfaction in her eyes. He set down the paper and held his hands out to her and she dropped into his lap, slipping his glasses off.

"You're ever so handsome in these," she said, kissing the tip of his nose, "but you're far easier to kiss without them." She cradled his face in her hand and brushed her lips against his smiling ones. When they broke apart she added, "Elsie was here earlier. She's taken in our laundry and put fresh linens on the bed. Mrs. Patmore sent over dinner and I've got it warming now."

Richard sighed contentedly. "I've got a fire in the fireplace, dinner in the oven and a lapful of sweet, warm wife. What more could a man ask for?"

Isobel giggled. "Flatterer," she said. "As soon as we finish dinner, I want you to take me to bed."

"I'm certain that can be arranged," he replied.

They finished dinner and did the washing up together. Richard locked the doors, adjusted the damper on the fire and took Isobel's hand as she led the way upstairs. She began to unbutton her blouse, but Richard came close and stilled her hands with his.

"Let me," he said, his voice husky. She nodded, dropping her hands, and watched his eyes as he unfastened each button. She heard the whisper of the fabric as her blouse fell to the floor. Her skirt soon followed and then she stood before him in her brassiere, stockings and knickers. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as he bent his head to kiss first one nipple and then the other through the lace of her brassiere. He looked up at her, his mouth full of her breast, and the image took her breath away.

"Oh, you're beautiful!" she cried. She began to unbutton his shirt as he reached around to unclasp her brassiere. At the first press of their bare upper bodies against the other they both cried out.

She unfastened his trousers and as he stepped out of them he knelt and began slowly rolling the silk of her stockings down her legs, kissing every patch of skin as it was revealed. When only her knickers remained he caressed her bottom through the satin. He looked up to meet her gaze and then pressed a singular kiss to her apex through the fabric. She moaned loudly and clutched at his shoulders. She let him slide the material down her legs and off before she pulled at him, willing him to stand. She removed his undershorts, stroking him firmly as she went.

They lay down in bed and Richard rose up on his elbow. "Tell me what you need, Isobel. You've been to some painful places in your memory today. What can I do to help you now?"

She smiled even as her lips emitted a sob and she reached out, pressing her fingers against his lips. "Oh, I love you, Richard!" Another sob, and then she pulled herself together and answered him. "I think … I think I just need to be with you. Feel you. Breathe together. I'm probably not making any sense."

"Oh, but you are, darling. Do you want to stretch out on top of me?"

This earned him a full, beautiful smile. "God, yes. Sounds heavenly."

He lay down, making himself comfortable and she lowered herself on top of him, stealing a kiss in the process. Both of them gasped at the press of bare skin on skin. Putting a hand to his heart he said softly, "Here, put your head right here." She smiled warmly again, kissed him there and settled in.

"How's that, sweet girl?" He asked as his arms came around her.

"It's wonderful," she sighed. "Healing. This is what I've longed for, all those years."

"It's all yours now, anytime you need it, my Bel." For just a moment, Richard's heart ached at the thought of this beautiful woman and all of the pain she had endured in her lifetime, for so long all alone. He pushed the thought down. He had her now, every glorious bare inch of her in his arms, in his bed, and she would never know pain like that again as long as he had anything to say about it.

They were silent for a long time. Isobel gloried in the sound of Richard's heartbeat and the heat of his skin. He thought about her body, perfect in every way as far as he could see. There was nothing broken about her. His hands moved on her of their own accord. He couldn't have her this close and not touch her. His fingertips traced every inch of skin he could reach; mapping her vertebrae, brushing the sides of her breasts, kneading her lower back and hips. Her pelvis rolled into him, her fingers massaging the back of his neck. He couldn't help growling when he felt her nipples harden where they pressed against his chest. They began a slow, lazy grind that they continued for some time and she moaned as he hardened beneath her. She lifted her head to look at him and her pain was forgotten, the look in her eyes one of hunger and abandon.

"There's my Isobel," Richard affirmed. "There's my lover."

It was amazing to him how different she looked now after being in his arms. The physicality between them truly was a healing balm for her. "Isobel, you look so beautiful right now. So confident and strong and hungry. This is the woman I see. This is who you are."

She graced him with a smile. "That's the difference love makes, Richard. It really is that powerful. God, this is so good. Sweet and easy and face-to-face is perfect right now."

She kissed him deeply, her tongue tracing the outline of his lips. He sucked her tongue into his mouth and she rolled her hips against him. He worked a hand down over her bottom and then lower, caressing her inner thighs and she gasped, open-mouthed, in the middle of a kiss. His other hand joined the first and he traced indiscernible patterns along her inner thighs from her knees to her apex, intentionally avoiding touching her where she wanted him most. She felt the ache begin to build. She arched her back, pressing her hips more insistently against his arousal. She kissed his neck and chest, all the skin she could reach.

"Here, sit up, love," Richard urged. She moved to straddle him as he sat up, his mouth latching onto her breast.

"Yesss," she sighed. He palmed the other breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers. "Oh, lover, yes … This is what I need," she whispered. Her head rolled back as she felt his fingertips ghosting over her ribs and the plane of her abdomen. He rested the flat of his palm there, where her babies once lay within her. It was a benediction. He knew the tears would come and he soothed her when they did.

"Isobel," he whispered, and their eyes locked. "Isobel, you did well, sweetheart. You loved those babies so much, didn't you? You carried them as long as you could, love. You didn't fail them. You're so brave. You're the strongest person I know." He couldn't say more because tears were streaming down his face as well. He reached for Isobel, pulling her to him, and she collapsed against him.

What grace he had given her; absolution. Healing that had been decades in the making. They cried together until the tears ran dry and the spark between them built to flame once more.

"Richard, in me?" Isobel whimpered.

"Of course, sweet girl. Don't worry, I'll hold you." In this position she would bear most of the weight, but her hips were hurting and her heart was heavy and he held her so that he would do the majority of the work for them. She raised up on her knees as he aligned them and he looked up at her, poised just above him.

"The way you look right now … I'm going to remember that forever," he told her.

"Souls alike, Richard," she said softly as she took him within her body. "You have all of me. Oh, lover!"

She could say nothing else; could focus solely on feeling him. Feeling alive. He held her hips as she rose and fell on him, and when they found their rhythm he worked his hand down to the place where they were joined and brushed his fingers over her center, his touch intensifying with her cries. They found release together; pleasure and pain and life and death all mingling as they called out to one another.

She pulled him down on her, loving the weight and closeness of him. Her arms wrapped around him, clinging tightly. He stayed until he could no longer and then he laid down next to her, gathering her against him. She was not yet willing to relinquish all the heat between them, so she insinuated a leg between his and sighed contentedly as his hand rested on her bottom.

Richard hadn't yet been the first to speak after they made love, but tonight he surprised her. "You're a force, Isobel. You are so beautiful, it's heartbreaking. Thank you … For sharing your joy and your pain and your body and your soul with me. I don't know what I did to deserve you, but thank you, sweet girl."

She smiled against him, strengthened by his words. "It's because of the man you are, Richard. You love me … You understand me, like no one else. I could never be … all this … with anyone but you. We have it all now, don't we?"

It was his turn to smile. "We certainly do. I had no idea life held so many wonders I hadn't yet discovered. I love it all, Isobel, because I have it with you. You are the best-kept secret I could ever have hoped to find."

"I love you so much, Richard. You're a beautiful man. You've given me back all those wasted years, love."

"There's no more death, Bel. No more pain. There's only love, and life beginning anew. Sleep now, darling girl."

Please try to leave a review if you can. I love connecting with all of you! Happy Downton Day, my fellow Americans!