September 1923

The air was crisp and clear as Isobel made her way to Cavenham, her mind at ease with the thought of a quiet afternoon tea with Dickie. It had been a bit since she had seen him, and she found herself looking forward to catching up with him. Their friendship had been rekindled, and his company was comforting and refreshing, despite his ill health. He never let on how poorly he was feeling, and Isobel noted his effort.

Upon arrival, she was greeted by the butler, who led her into the drawing room, a space of stately elegance with lush tones of greens and golds and furnishing made of rich mahogany. The walls were lined with bookshelves, their dark oak filled with leather-bound volumes and a few trinkets. The room, Isobel noted, seemed to suit Dickie with its dignified refinement, yet maintaining a warm hearth.

Dickie had been awaiting her arrival and stood when he saw her enter the room. "Isobel, how wonderful to see you," he beamed with a genuine smile, taking her hand in his. "Come sit down," he motioned her to one of the velvet green sofas, "tea will be served shortly. I do hope you'll indulge me for a long chat, it's been far too long."

Isobel smiled softly. "I'm pleased to be here Dickie. How have you been?"

"Well enough, well enough," he chuckled. "I'm a bit tired of going to the doctor's and heading back and forth to Harley Street, but I manage."

"I imagine it's frustrating," Isobel said as she poured herself a cup of tea when the butler brought in the serving tray. "There are new treatments in development," she began.

"I know," Dickie murmured, "but I learned long ago not to put too much faith in chances." He took a sip of tea. "But nevermind about me. How are you? How is your grandson? I hear he has a birthday coming round the corner."

Isobel laughed. "Don't remind me. He is growing up too quickly. Can you believe he will be two years old?"

"Two!" Dickie chuckled. "A grown man almost then."

"He certainly is mischievous, rather like his father," Isobel noted as she looked around the room. "If I'm being honest, I rather can't wait to see what sort of shenanigans he may pull on his mother, other grandparents, and the staff."

"I bet you can't!"

"I had plenty of experience with Matthew. Robert and Cora have yet to learn." A knowing expression formed on her gleaming face. "Did you know that one time when Matthew was about four he found a snake in the back garden and decided he wanted to keep it as a pet? Imagine my surprise when I found the thing slithering in his toy box when I was cleaning his room." She laughed heartily.

Dickie sat enraptured by the happy woman before him. She was every bit of the young woman he remembered, even if she refused to see it. "And what did you do?" Dickie pressed, interested in her reaction.

"Jumped on top of Matthew's bed and screamed for Reginald, of course!"

"Afraid of a snake?" Dickie teased.

"Why is it that men and boys find reptiles and their ilk so appealing?" Isobel rolled her eyes and smiled.

"Boys will be boys, I'm afraid."

The two continued to chat - about Downton, about Cavenham, about the hospital, about life. A fire crackled gently in the hearth, a familiar warmth that wrapped itself around the walls. They had finished two cups of tea before they even realized the time.

The familiar rapport was interrupted when Dickie's sons, Larry and Tim, walked into the room after a day of grouse shooting.

Isobel noticed a subtle tension entering the room.

"Good afternoon, Father," Larry said as he helped himself to a cup of tea. "Mrs. Crawley," Larry regarded the woman, "a surprise to see you here today." His tone was not particularly welcoming as he sat opposite of Isobel.

"Lord Merton invited me, and I had the day off from the hospital," she said pleasantly, though decided to use titles around the boys.

The brothers had always been somewhat aloof, though Isobel hoped, given time, they might warm to her. However, today there was an unmistakable air of coldness about them. Larry, with his sharp features and impatient air, stared at her with a subtle disapproval that made her feel instantaneously unwelcome. Tim, quiet as ever, had his eyes fixed out the window, a disinterested frown on his face.

"And how are you feeling today Father?" Larry asked, feigning interest. "I thought you would not be in the mood for entertaining."

"I don't mind," Dickie murmured, "so long as it is pleasant company." His words pointed, hoping his boys would leave everything alone.

"Surely, Mrs. Crawley, you know that our father is unwell. He's not been receiving many visitors. He must find you rather special to make an exception," Larry chuckled - though his eyes betrayed a cruelty that ran deep into his bones.

Seemingly aware of the palpable tension, Lord Merton changed the subject. "Well, I was well enough to go to a charitable auction when I was in London last week. You would have enjoyed it, Isobel," he said warmly, "so much raised for the good of the community."

"Ah, I've been quite busy with my work at the hospital," Isobel replied, a relieved smile forming across her lips, hoping to avoid any more unpleasant conversation with the boys. "There's so many new social work cases this month."

Larry's eyes flicked up at the mention of her work, his expression turning ever so slightly mocking. "You are the almoner, correct?"

"Yes," Isobel replied proudly, "though I was a nurse and have been for almost my entire life."

"Such a noble calling, isn't it?" Larry continued, his voice dripping with disdain. "Though I suppose not quite the same as managing a proper estate. Quite a far cry from being a lady of the manor, wouldn't you say?"

Tim, who had remained silent until now, chimed in, his tone cutting and unyielding. His eyes fixed on Isobel. "Yes, I'm sure it must be…fulfilling. But, it holds no candle to the position of authority our mother held here. Her influence was felt across the county, and people knew she was someone who commanded respect." He paused, his gaze staring through Isobel, almost daring her to respond. "But I suppose a woman of your background can only aspire to care for the sick."

Isobel felt the sting of his words, a tightness forming in her chest. She had expected some of their usual nastiness, but this was something else - this was calculated cruelty. They dismissed her work, the very thing that had given her purpose and dignity after her husband's death.

"I find it fulfilling, yes," Isobel replied, her voice steady, despite the growing discomfort. "And I suppose I've never felt the need to manage an estate to feel worthy of respect, Tim. My work speaks for itself." She dared meet his eyes, her hands tightening around her teacup.

"I'm sure it does," Larry said. "But managing an estate requires more, doesn't it? It requires grace, poise, and a certain…pedigree." He looked pointedly at Isobel. "Your profession, while admirable, can never give you the same reputation my mother had. She was the Lady Merton, a baroness, a great lady. It's not something one can simply step into."

"I never said that anyone could," Isobel murmured quietly.

For his part, Dickie sat ramrod straight, staring at his boys. He could not say anything…if he even tried to get a word in edgewise.

"Our mother was a woman who knew how to move in the right circles," Tim said, his tone laced with venom. "People respected her because she was part of something grand, something meaningful. I daresay your 'nursing' could never provide that kind of legacy, could it?"

The words hit her like a slap in the face. For a moment, Isobel was at a loss for what to say. She glanced at Dickie who looked decidedly uncomfortable, though he did not spring to her defense. The comparison to Ada Grey was brutish, and the suggestion that her profession, something that she had poured herself into, was beneath their family stung far more than she had expected. She always knew that Dickie had to maintain Cavenham, knew that they were from different backgrounds, but to hear it pointed out so cruelly rattled her.

She could feel the warmth of the tea slipping through her hands.

"Your mother, perhaps, was indeed a great lady," Isobel answered, trying to keep her composure. "But my work in the hospital has also allowed me to do something meaningful for others, just as your mother did for Cavenham. Perhaps, it's simply a matter of perspective."

Larry's eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Perspective, you say? The thing is, Mrs. Crawley, you have never really been part of this world, have you? You may have been accepted into Downton, but that does not make you one of us. Not really."

"No, not really," Tim affirmed.

Isobel took a deep breath, anger bubbling beneath the surface, but she refused to let it spill over. She refused to let these two young men shake her, not when she had worked so hard to maintain her dignity. "I am grateful for the life I've had, and I have no regrets about my past," she said solemnly then turned to Dickie. "I'm afraid I'll have to excuse myself, Lord Merton. I promised I would stop in and see George before heading home."

Lord Merton's face softened with concern as Isobel stood and headed towards the door. "Isobel, I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice low, "I did not mean for this to happen. The boys…" he struggled, "the boys don't know what they are saying."

She placed a gentle hand on his forearm as he stood to try to stop her. "It's quite alright," she said, her voice steady though she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. "I've never been one to shy away from criticism, but I think it's time I take my leave."

Without waiting for further protest, Isobel scooted out the door, her steps resolute. However, she could hear Larry's voice behind her, a final jab that lingered in the air. "Such a delicate woman," Larry chuckled, "I wonder what she's really here for. Surely, she doesn't expect us to welcome her with open arms."

Isobel's breath caught in her throat, but she did not turn around. She couldn't.

Once outside, the fresh air hit her face like a soothing balm, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself a brief moment of peace. As she strolled along the gravel path away from the estate, the sounds of nature offering her solace, she reminded herself that their cruelty said more about them than it did about her.

Back in the drawing room, Lord Merton was left to grapple with the rift his sons had caused.

"Larry, Tim," he said softly, his disappointment evident, "I expect better from you both."

But the damage had been done. And Isobel Crawley would not easily forget how she had been made to feel at Cavenham.

…

Isobel sat on her bed that night with a book, attempting to read. She was trying to take her mind off of what happened earlier in the day, but failing miserably. Despite their father's amiable nature, Larry and Tim had treated her with a barely veiled mockery she had not anticipated.

She stood and walked to her wardrobe and, once again, took out that green mantle. The cloak was still rich, still fine, its velvet touch and golden ribbons at its neck looked something more suited to a fine lady than a simple nurse.

Even if the boys think nothing of me, he, at the very least, thought I was worthy of this gift.

She knew that the life of Cavenham was never something she wanted for herself. But Dickie…he had no choice…and, for that, she did feel a twinge of pity for him.

It always seemed to her that whenever they took a step forward, something happened that made them fall ten steps behind.

Was she right to push in now? To try to be his friend? To be part of his life?

Why now?

Surely, he did not need to choose between his family and her at this point in his life, not when his health was so precarious.

She would not make him, not when she could make the easier choice for him.

She could help him, even if helping caused him pain.

She placed the mantle back in her wardrobe once again and headed for bed.

The house around her was quiet now. Crawley House was always quiet at night, but tonight felt different. The silence felt thick, as though it was pressing in on her, suffocating her. She pulled the blanket over her and sunk back into the pillow. She closed her eyes for a moment hoping the stillness would calm the storm inside.

But as soon as she closed her eyes, the old nightmare resurfaced - unbidden, unwanted. Perhaps, it was the events of the day that made her remember another time someone needed her help…but she was not there.

And she blamed herself to this day.

She missed him. After all, isn't that what missing is…

…

Manchester 1900

The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows over manicured lawns as Isobel Crawley made her way back home from the local hospital, the bracing winter air biting at her cheeks. She had worked a double shift at the infirmary and was tired, looking forward to a quiet evening at home.

Usually, her husband, Reginald, accompanied her on these walks home, but not today. That morning had been different. Reg's arm had been hurting, and he had told her he didn't quite feel up to par, so he stayed home. It was unusual for him; he was a doctor devoted to his patients. He had very little time for the luxuries of sleep and rest, and she always admired that about him. If he was staying home, then surely he must be in a great deal of pain. He blamed the feeling on his shoulder, just the old wound from Mafeking acting up again - nothing to worry about.

"If you're sure…" That was what she had told him, eyeing Reg trying to determine if he may need her. "I could stay home today too…"

"No, my dear, no," he had told her. "I'm fine. I'll just catch up with some paperwork in the upstairs office. You know this wound always gives me trouble, it's nothing to worry about."

"If you're sure…"

She wondered how he was feeling now, if he needed her to rub some salve on the battle-scarred skin to dull the ache.

As she approached the front door, her home seemed unusually quiet. Strange. Perhaps, it was just fatigue from the long hours spent caring for others, but something felt off.

"Matthew? Reg?" she called out, stepping into the hallway and placing her coat on the rack. "I'm home."

At first, there was no answer, only the soft echo of her voice bouncing off the walls.

Frowning, Isobel moved toward the sitting room - where Reginald had spent countless quiet hours poring over his medical journals. It was also the room where the family had shared so many conversations and cups of tea, enjoying each other's company. Her boys weren't there.

"Matthew? Reg?" she called again, louder this time, thinking perhaps they did not hear her if they were upstairs with their doors closed.

Then, the sudden thud of a door slamming open from the floor above broke the silence, and Isobel's heart skipped a beat.

Her son flew out of his father's study, his face pale, his wide, terrified eyes stared at her. He stood before her in a state of shock that she could not comprehend.

"Mum!" his voice cracked, strangled by panic, calling her from the landing. His hands gripped the stair railing, his knuckles turning white. "Mum! Please! Come quickly. It's Father." The words tumbled out.

Without hesitation, Isobel rushed up the stairs. Her breath hitched in her throat, and before she could even ask, Matthew was already turning, racing toward the study. She followed him with frantic steps, her pulse quickening.

When Isobel reached the study, her heart crashed against her ribs, beating so wildly that she felt sure it would burst through her chest.

Reginald was there, slumped over his desk, his once strong frame now unnaturally still.

No…

Her legs buckled beneath her, and she grabbed the doorframe to steady herself.

Matthew was already at his father's side desperately shaking him. "Father! Father!" The panic in his voice was a painful contrast to the cold, lifeless body before them. "Please, Mother, help him. You must do something!" He looked at her, eyes pleading, hoping that she could save him.

But Reginald did not wake. He had not even stirred.

"I just got home," Matthew gulped, "and I came up here to ask for help on some homework and…and…I found him. But…Mother…you're here now. There must be something you can do," the boy's hands raked through his blonde hair, tears streaming down his red face.

Isobel's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp, and she felt an overwhelming weight of helplessness. She could see it clearly now - Reginald had died here at his desk. He had been gone for hours, his body cold to her touch and his lips - the bluish hue of death. It was a heart attack. That was why his arm had been hurting…a heart attack…

How did you not see?

Why did I leave him this morning? If I had been here…

If you're sure…

Her hands trembled as they reached for her husband, but they didn't know where to go, what to touch. She didn't know if this was even real, or if she had somehow fallen into some terrible nightmare.

"Reg," she choked, "my Reg," the words hollow in her chest.

"Matthew, darling," she whispered hoarsely, her voice shaking with grief. "He's gone," she said softly. "There's nothing I can do." She moved to her son, kneeling beside him. He was still holding fast to his father's hand. As she embraced Matthew, the young man melted away into a small boy, letting go of the lifeless hand to hold tightly to his mother. She could feel his sobs rack through his thin frame, his body trembling in shock. Her hand went to his cheek, stroking away his tears so she could see his eyes.

She looked at him, but there were no words. No words to undo the pain, no words to heal the wound that had been carved into their lives.

"Matthew…" she repeated, but this time the tears came unbidden. She could not stop them. "I'm so sorry. If I had stayed home, if I had been here." The breath had been knocked from her lungs, and the weight of her guilt bled through every word. "I am so sorry."

Matthew hugged her tighter. "I didn't know what to do, Mum," he choked out between sobs. "I tried to wake him. I thought…I thought maybe if you came home…" His voice cracked.

Isobel's arms trembled as she held her boy. Her blouse soaked from his tears.

Her son. Her strong, resilient boy. He was still so young, so full of innocence - shattered in a single moment.

"You did everything you could, Matthew," she looked deeply into his eyes, trying to reassure him. "You did nothing wrong. Do you hear me? Nothing."

"It wasn't your fault either, Mum. You couldn't have known," he whispered in her ear.

And it broke her. She sobbed, trying to catch her breath, as her shoulders heaved. I wasn't here. I was not here.

They stayed like that for a while, kneeling on the floor clinging to one another. His hands gripped her blouse as though afraid to let go. Afraid he could lose her too. It was in that moment that she realized that Matthew was no longer the little boy she had tucked into bed, but a young man, thrown into the harsh realities of life far too soon.

Innocence lost.

Isobel pressed her cheek to his sandy blonde hair, feeling the warmth of his head against her as she too struggled to breathe through the grief. She had been a nurse for so long, had dealt with death countless times in others, but this…this was different.

This was the loss of the man that she loves. The father of her child.

Her husband.

Her Reg.

"I'm here, Matthew, I'm here," she whispered, feeling the weight of all they had lost. "Shhh…my darling boy….ssshhhh…"

Finally, Isobel stood, pulling Matthew up to his feet with her. She walked him out of the study, away from the cold, still presence of the man they both loved.

They didn't speak as she guided him downstairs, her hand gently, but firmly, on his shaking shoulders. Their steps - slow and measured. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, she turned to face him.

"We will get through this," she said, her voice steady now, as if speaking the words out loud gave her the strength to believe them.

Matthew swiftly nodded, his face flushed, but his eyes unwavering in their commitment. "We will, Mum," he whispered.

"I miss him already," she whispered. "I'll miss him forever."

…

Isobel's eyes snapped open. She gasped for breath, her heart racing and her body drenched in sweat.

"Reginald," she choked out, her voice cracking filled with a regret that remained her constant companion. "I should have been there."

That nightmare - the same one she had had countless times - would never leave her, an inescapable shadow. For a moment, she felt lost, disoriented, as though still trapped in that horrible moment.

Her bedroom was quiet, just as it had been when she had first fallen asleep. The fire was barely a glow now. She sat up slowly, her hand clutching at the blanket, trying to steady herself…to anchor herself to the present…to avoid being consumed by the past.

But the ache in her chest would not fade. It never did.

And the echoes of Larry and Tim's cruel words reverberated in her mind. And Dickie's failure to say anything to them…to defend her, perhaps, that stung too. His illness worried her - and she could not face losing someone else, would not let him lose his family either. That fate hurt her just as sharply as the image of her husband's lifeless body had in her nightmare; it was one she would not let him suffer too.

Isobel always prided herself on her strength, on her ability to endure anything. Sometimes, however, if she was totally honest, the weight of her life pressed too heavily upon her.

If I was there…for the man I love dearly…

November 1923

It was a beautiful autumn afternoon, and the grounds of Cavenham seemed to be bathed in golden light. The leaves, tinged with fiery hues of red and orange, rustled softly outside the drawing room.

They had just finished a luncheon, and Dickie had left briefly to fetch something from another room. She did her best to visit Dickie when the boys were away, careful to avoid them. She wanted nothing more than to remain friends with him - not to lose whatever they had. Their friendship meant something to her now, their companionship growing stronger with each passing day. His health seemed to be holding; at the very least, he had not gotten any worse. He rarely liked to talk about it - ever since finding out it was pernicious - he wanted to continue his life as he normally would, without the thought of dying.

His gentle nature, his wit, and the kindness he had shown her had touched her in a way she never expected. At first, she had been hesitant, but with patience and steadfastness, Lord Merton slowly worked his way into her life.

And she was there for him too. She did not want him to face his illness alone; she wanted to share his burden.

There was, however, a certain unease in her heart. And she dreaded the day if Dickie ever truly did tell her what was on his mind...if he asked her what she thought he wanted to.

She had hoped to delay it, push it away like an unwelcome thought.

Why change anything? As long as we remain at arms length…

His reappearance in the room broke her reverie. His expression was unusually serious; his eyes filled with both determination and vulnerability.

"May I sit?" he asked, his voice more fragile than usual.

She nodded, gesturing toward the armchairs by the fire.

He sat down across from her, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

She didn't want him to say it aloud. She could see that question in his eyes, the hope mingled with fear.

He looked at her and smiled. Dickie took a deep breath and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small, elegant box, placing it gently on the table between them. He stared at it for a long moment, as if gathering the courage needed to continue. He opened it and held it out to her, revealing a beautiful gold ring - delicate and shimmering in the low light of the room.

"Isobel," he began, his voice faltering slightly, "I cannot imagine my life without you in it. You have brought something back into my soul that I thought would never exist. I have spent many years withholding my feelings. I won't do that anymore. I love you. I have always loved you. And, with you, I can finally breathe again. Will you marry me?"

She looked down at the ring, feeling the weight of the moment, the depth of his love for her. She had hoped to spare him this; she knew - truly knew and understood - what her answer must be.

"I…I can't," she whispered softly. She felt the words slip out of her mouth, her voice trembling with her own rejection.

Lord Merton's face froze, his expression faltering as though he had been struck. "What do you mean? Are you not happy?" he asked, his voice thick with disbelief.

Isobel stood up, her hands clutching the back of the chair for support. She felt lightheaded, as though the room itself was spinning around her.

She could not look at him.

She knew she was breaking his heart.

Again.

Isobel took a deep breath, turning to look out the window. "I know that you care for me, and I care for you. But I also know that your family - your sons - are not in favor of our relationship. I cannot destroy your relationship with your children. I won't be the cause of a rift."

His brow furrowed. "You cannot mean that. I would do anything for you, Isobel. Anything."

"I cannot ask you to sacrifice your family for me. I would never want that." She turned to look at him. "You do not know what it means to lose your child -" she stopped herself, biting her lip. "Your sons will never accept me. I see how difficult it has been for you to reconcile the differences amongst us. I've seen how they look at me, how they speak of me…to me. I will not be the reason you lose them." She squared her shoulders. "I care for you too much for you to lose your family."

Lord Merton's face crumpled. He looked at the ring in the box, then back at Isobel. "So, you are saying that you will not marry me…for my own sake?"

Isobel nodded. "I will wed with no man, so you must be refused."

"But I love you," he said in a hoarse whisper, his voice cracking. "Isobel, I would choose you above everything."

She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breath. Tears began to prickle at the corner of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "I know," she said softly. "And that is why I cannot marry you. It's too high a price…one I won't let you pay, not for me. I must refuse."

Dickie's hands dropped to his sides, his face devoid of expression. The air was thick with unsaid words, with the weight of everything that had been and everything that she would not let them be.

His next statement was one Isobel did not expect.

"You are an extraordinary woman, Isobel Crawley," his tone sad but resigned to the wall she had placed in front of him. "If that is truly what you must do, then I will not try to change your mind. I respect your decision."

She stared at him for a moment, then nodded, relieved at his acceptance. And yet his words made her choice no less heartbreaking.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I must go now."

"Of course," Dickie acknowledged. Please…don't let this ruin what we do have…the words left unspoken.

She turned and walked towards the door. She made the right choice - but the pain she felt was difficult to bear. She hurried quickly out of the house and into the fresh air. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself one last moment to mourn another what could have been and, then, composed herself, moving forward with the quiet dignity she had always known.

…

December 1991

"You have got to be kidding me!" Matthew exclaimed, staring at his grandfather. "He asks her to marry him, and she says 'no.'"

George laughed heartily. "I told you this was a convoluted story. People back then kept too much inside." He thumbed through a photo album that Liz had found in the trunk. "Oh, here's a picture of Larry and Tim," he said.

"Let me see," Liz exclaimed, taking the black and white photo from her grandfather. "They look like snobs. I mean look at the nose of this one…and the haughty expression."

Jack glanced at the image his wife held. "So, here's the thing I don't understand."

"Yes?" George replied, waiting for one of Jack's typical long-winded, though amusing, rejoinders. He knew what his granddaughter Liz saw in him.

"You've painted Isobel as this strong woman - there for her son after her husband's death, a nurse in war, then the almoner, always busy, always forthright, always, well, you know, opinionated." Jack's hands moved a mile a minute as he talked. "But…but…but…she lets these two jerks…and yes that's what you they are…jerks put her off their father, the man she loves…even if she won't admit that fact to herself…she loved Dickie. And here's another thing, the man has anemia, possibly dying from it, what was there for her to lose? Huh? Answer me that. Only him." Jack breathed deeply, having, once again, said a mouthful.

"Well, we have a family saying," Liz began, "women can be as contrary as we wish." She giggled, playfulling nudging her husband in the ribs.

"Quite right, my dear, quite right," George smiled, remembering what his mother used to say whenever she changed her mind about something.

"So, sis," Matthew glanced at Liz from his spot on a chair. "What's the female perspective? Fill us blokes in because I don't see a good reason for Isobel turning him down?"

Isobel rolled her eyes. "Can't you?" She leaned forward, her elbows sitting on her knees. "Isobel lost her husband, she lost her son, those relationships meant something to her. She cherished them."

"Yes? I understand that," Matthew nodded his head, "So why choose to be unhappy?"

"Because she won't let Dickie go through that. She won't let him lose his sons just to be with her. She placed so much of her priorities on family," Liz explained, thumbing a picture of Isobel with her son Matthew.

"And she can't see that not everyone has that wonderful relationship," Jack supplied. "Families can be complicated."

"Bingo!" Liz snapped her fingers. "No matter how Larry and Tim treat her, she doesn't realize that they could be equally cruel to their father. She doesn't see that children and their parents can and do grow apart, if they were ever together at all."

"And why would she?" George added. "My grandmother always had a wonderful relationship with her family. She did not want to be the cause of ruining one."

"But Dickie and his sons…they were already damaged," Matthew reasoned.

"Doesn't mean she could see it," Jack said. "She just thinks it's her."

"That sucks!" Matthew exclaimed. "So what happens next? We know she already keeps the mantle, so she does love him…so how does her mind change?"

"He's dying," murmured Jack, "I'm still convinced that he's dying."

"Well, why don't I tell you more," George laughed and settled back into his chair.

So what did you think? I really enjoyed writing this longer chapter. I really hope I captured this emotional turmoil within Isobel, and Dickie's unwavering commitment to her. Writing part of this was difficult…Reginald's death was hard to capture. I wanted to provide some semblance of the realism of sudden death - the helplessness. Please leave a review. I love hearing your thoughts.