I know, I know - it's taken me forever to get to writing this chapter. Things just kept coming up - unexpected - but that's life for you. It would not be life if a few curveballs were never thrown your way. I hope you enjoy this update, as I am fairly sure this story is winding its way to a close. I am planning on continuing "I Cannot Read You" soon as well and have written more for it already. I also have a Richobel story "A Burden We Both Share" that I sometimes toy with the idea of expanding as I do have ideas for that one, just not sure if anyone would be interested. Nothing else written for that story, just ideas that keep popping up.
The day he was finally discharged from the hospital, Isobel could feel the weight of his eyes on her. They had become accustomed to these quiet, intimate moments in the sterile hospital room, exchanging knowing glances and occasionally holding hands.
Yet Isobel felt sure that the moment they stepped out into the fresh air of the world outside, things would feel very different. The soft breeze stirred her hair, and yet she felt heavy, trapped in something she could not explain.
He was not dying; he would recover and live for many years still. Then what was wrong with her?
Dickie leaned on a cane as they made their way to the waiting car. He was not quite at his best yet, but he was determined. His hand brushed hers as she helped him into the vehicle, and she could feel the heat of his fingers against her skin.
"Isobel," he said softly, the vulnerability in his voice catching her off guard. "We need to talk."
She nodded quickly, a million thoughts racing through her mind, and none that she had been prepared to make known at this moment. "We can talk later, Dickie. You need to go home. You need to rest."
But he was not listening. The moment he arrived at his estate, he felt sure that he would lose her again. He caught her hand as she stepped back away from the vehicle.
"I'm not letting you walk away from me" he said firmly, his eyes locking onto hers.
Isobel froze, not sure what to make of his gesture, and, to be honest, slightly embarrassed to be doing this out here in public. The air was thick between them. Her pulse quickened. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.
She could not escape the conviction in his gaze. He was not going to make this easy for her this time.
"You can't keep doing this, Isobel. I won't let you." His tone was softer now, but it held a deep, unyielding resolve. "I love you. I loved you before all of this happened, and I love you now. Don't push me away again."
Her heart wrenched painfully in her chest. She turned her eyes away from him, but she did not let go of his hand. He was too close now - too close for her to ignore the ache inside her.
"Dickie…" her voice broke. "I just…I just…" In truth, she did not know what it was; she could not explain herself.
"Isobel, don't." His fingers smoothed over her hand. "I have thought about everything. I've thought about all the reasons you have given me for pushing me away. I've thought about dying. I've thought about it all. And nothing makes sense. I don't care about my family's expectations. I don't care about their judgment. I care about you. You are the one thing I want more than anything."
She pulled her hand back, instinctively moving away from the car, and her throat tightened. "Why?" Isobel swallowed hard. "Why are you making this harder than it already is?"
"I'm not making it harder, Isobel," he replied, his voice stiffening slightly. "You are making it harder for yourself. You're punishing yourself because you are afraid to lose me, afraid to love me. And I can't stand by and watch you walk away when I know that you are in love with me."
She jerked her head up to look at him, her eyes wide with disbelief. He had no right to say such things. No right to call her out like this.
She had rejected him - didn't that mean something? Was that not proof enough that she was saving herself from the pain of loving again?
Why taunt her with it?
She stood there for the moment. The car of his door open as she leaned against it. "I don't want to love you," she said firmly, her voice cracking as the weight of her own admission shattered her. "I can't. When you were here in the hospital, everything replayed over again. I can't go through the heartache again."
"I thought you did not want to lose me?" Dickie questioned.
"Love and loss go hand in hand with me," she replied simply.
He took a breath, understanding her more now than he ever did. "You've lost something precious before. But I won't let you shut me out. I won't make the same mistake as I did all those years ago. I'm here, Isobel. I'm here because I love you, and I won't give up on us."
She stared at him, unsure of what to say. His words hit deeper than she expected. She had wanted to protect herself, but in doing so, she had closed herself off to the one person who had never stopped loving her. He wanted her despite everything - despite her hesitation, despite her grief, despite the walls she had built around her heart.
And yet…the fear still gripped her chest. What if it wasn't enough? Though she was grateful for his determination and for his unyielding love, she couldn't shake the feeling that she could not accept it…that the past left too many scars on her heart.
"Go home, Dickie," she said softly as she shut his car door. She looked up at him, her eyes full of a mixture of emotions…fear, uncertainty, loss…and hope. "We will see each other again, I promise."
…
December 1991
"Wait - what?" Jack's outburst interrupted the story. "You're telling me she just lets him go?"
"Bit of a surprise there, huh?" George chuckled. "I told you my Grandmamma was stubborn. If Dickie wants her, then he will have to chase after her."
"Women love to be chased," Liz smiled from her seat next to her husband as she gave him a playful nudge.
"You know," Jack laughed, "I had to ask Liz out five times before she would even agree to go on a date with me."
"I had to make sure you were serious. I could not be wasting my time with some casual fling with a frat boy while trying to pass my exams," Liz noted.
"Heaven forbid the Oxford med student has anything to distract her from studying for her OSCEs." Matthew rolled his eyes, teasing his sister.
Liz shot him a look.
"Only kidding, sister of mine, only kidding."
"So if Dickie almost dying of a heart attack does not convince Isobel that she is wasting time, then what does?" Matthew voiced aloud.
"Is she really that afraid?" Jack wondered.
"Grandmamma would have told you she wanted to be sure about him," George chuckled, fondly remembering Isobel telling him the same story. "But she would have been lying."
"She was not only afraid, she was terrified!" Liz announced, her voice full of conviction. "It's human nature to protect themselves."
"And sometimes the hardest thing for someone to do is accept love," Matthew answered.
"What made you a philosopher?" Liz laughed at her brother.
"I'm learning, I'm learning."
"Shall I go on with the story?" George asked.
…
Downton Abbey January 1924
It was a cold day in mid-January when Lord Merton found himself in the car with his sons headed to a dinner at Downton Abbey, his first since his stay at the hospital. He had unfortunately missed Christmas and New Year's at the Abbey, feeling his strength not quite up to stuff yet. Now, he felt much better, a bit like his old self again. When Lord Grantham asked him to join the family for dinner to celebrate his recovery, Dickie had accepted graciously, though he wished his sons had not received the same invitation.
Dickie was no stranger to Downton Abbey, but tonight he felt uneasy. Not because he did not want to spend time with the Crawleys - far from it. But because of the one person who would undoubtedly be in attendance.
Isobel Crawley. And Larry and Tim. In the same room. It did not bode well.
He had hoped for a quiet, civilized dinner, a chance to reconnect with old friends. But deep down, he knew the evening was unlikely to go smoothly.
His boys had made their feelings about her very clear. No matter how Dickie tried to convince them that Isobel had been a great source of comfort, of strength during his recovery, Larry and Tim could not see beyond her social standing. And now that they knew she had rejected his proposal, they had ammunition.
He hoped that, with the presence of the Crawleys, Larry and Tim would behave.
When the grand doors of Downton Abbey opened, Lord Merton, dressed in a black suit, stepped into the familiar, yet imposing entryway. Larry and Tim followed suit with an air of superiority.
Robert greeted Lord Merton warmly. "My dear friend, it's been far too long. We've missed your company."
"A pleasure to be invited as always," Dickie replied, shaking his friend's hand firmly.
"We would never turn down a dinner at the Abbey," Larry noted, a thin smile forming at his lips.
"Come through. I believe Carson was just about to announce dinner." Robert ushered his guests to the dining room.
Cast with a warm glow of candlelight, the long dining table was set with exquisite silver, crystal, and fine bone china. The guests had already taken their seats, and the soft hum of conversation filled the air.
Dickie's eyes scanned the room. She was there already, occupying her usual spot. He smiled as soon as he saw her. She was dressed in an elegant dark dress, finely beaded, and her hair was neatly pinned back with an exquisite silver clasp.
Isobel had arrived at Downton Abbey earlier in the day, greeted as usual by Mr. Carson who helped her remove a luxurious hunter green cloak, the one Dickie had given to her as a gift years ago. Isobel was not sure why she had finally rescued it from the back of her wardrobe, but it did go with her dress. The mantle, still the same beautiful shade of hunter green, always reminded her of the time she had with him, a lingering memory of their connection. She had not seen Dickie yet this evening, and she wondered if he would even recognize the mantle if he saw it.
When Mr. Carson had taken the cloak from her, she felt strangely exposed now sitting at the long table in the dining room, especially when she saw who walked behind their father.
Her face dropped immediately as Larry and Tim took their seats. Of course Robert would invite them. How could he not when we are here to celebrate Dickie's good health?
Isobel could not help but feel a bit uneasy. The dinner, which should have been a cause for celebration, was beginning to feel more like an examination, and she could feel her nerves tightening.
She clutched at her napkin underneath the table, occupying her hands for the moment. She had expected the usual awkwardness with Larry and Tim, but tonight, she could sense something more in their stares. She had hoped that with Dickie's recovery, perhaps they would soften, but the thought of being in their company still unsettled her.
Robert sat at the head of the table, greeting everyone with a smile. "I am happy to welcome back Lord Merton to the Abbey. We are so pleased you could join us." Everyone raised a glass to his health. "And…" Robert added, "please let us toast Mrs. Crawley for her efforts to nurse him back to health."
The comment was meant kindly, but Isobel felt her cheeks flush. She smiled politely as all eyes turned to her, wishing desperately to have avoided everyone's gaze. "It was a team effort. I'm just glad to see him looking much more like himself."
She tried to avoid Larry and Tim's eyes as they sat across the table from her, watching her closely, their expressions critical.
"It's been such a relief to be out of that hospital," Dickie acknowledged, taking a sip of his wine. "Isobel's care made all the difference, and I'll be forever grateful to her."
Isobel smiled at him, the ache in her chest deepening. "It was my privilege, Lord Merton."
Larry's eyebrows shot up, grateful an opportunity to join the conversation presented itself. He leaned in from his position across the table from his prey, his eyes fixed on Isobel. "A privilege," he used her words, a coy smile appearing across his thin lips. "How honorable of you to spend your days with our father in the hospital. Though I do wonder…did you ever consider how difficult it might have been for him - all things considered." His tone dripped with veiled contempt.
"And yet, you chose to care for him. How touching, considering the circumstances," Tim added, sneaking a glance between his father and Isobel.
Isobel's fingers tightened around her wine glass, her knuckles turning white. She knew exactly what they were referring to - her rejection of Dickie's marriage proposal. She should be used to their comments by now; they seemed to regard her presence as something to endure, never enjoy. She had done her duty, caring for their father during his illness, and yet here they were, making her intentions and her decisions the subject of cruel amusement.
Taking a deep breath, she focused on the meal they were about to be served.
The footmen served the first course - a delicate soup, the scent of fresh herbs wafted through the air. It was clear that no one was eager to engage in a conversation with Larry and Tim. Lady Grantham made the polite attempt to steer the chatter into a more comfortable direction. "I hear you are quite busy at the hospital, Isobel. Doctor Clarkson has told me that there is an increase in aid applications."
"It's important to help where one can," Isobel replied, grateful for Cora's intervention. "And the merger with the Royal Yorkshire has certainly opened up more funding opportunities. The paperwork, while tedious at times, is necessary, and I do not mind it." She brought a napkin to her lips.
Larry smirked, his spoon poised in the air. "How admirable," he said as though the word itself tasted foreign in his mouth. "I suppose you find yourself more at home in the hospital, rather than a setting like this. It's so…different from your usual environment."
Isobel's smile faltered, but she forced himself to meet his gaze. "I find that different places can offer new opportunities, different points of view."
"Quaint," Tim murmured, a wicked smile tugging at his lips. "I can't imagine that an estate such as this or Cavenham can match the excitement of an almoner's office."
Isobel's cheeks burned at the pointed remark. She had hoped, foolishly perhaps, that with their father's recent experience they would come to regard her work as valuable.
Obviously, she was mistaken.
Before she could respond, Robert, sensing the tension rising, began to steer the talk. "So, Dickie, I hear that you will be fighting fit soon, no more worrisome trips to Harley Street."
"Thank goodness," Dickie chuckled. "It's not everyday that one has a heart attack and finds out that one is, in fact, not dying."
"Lucky that it prompted additional tests," Mary added as she eyed Larry and Tim, almost daring them to say another word.
"I owe that to Mrs. Crawley," Dickie responded, his face breaking into a smile when mentioning her name. "She was always so insistent."
She felt a small measure of relief in his kindness. "I simply did what any other nurse would do," she said modestly.
Looking at her fondly, Dickie added, "I owe much of my recovery to you." He turned toward his sons. "I hope you'll come to appreciate her care and compassion." His words were pointed.
Tim, who had been quiet so far, could not help but join in, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, father, it is wonderful that you are on the mend." He paused, leaning in ever so slightly. "Though it is surprising, isn't it?"
"What do you mean by that, Tim?" Tom asked, noticing the sudden, unwelcome shift in the atmosphere.
"Well, to think that someone like Isobel would dedicate so much of her time to him. A woman who…turned down his proposal of marriage. Quite the unexpected turn, don't you think?"
Everyone at the table sat in uncomfortable silence, unsure of what to make of Tim's revelation. Isobel did not immediately reply, choosing instead to focus on her soup. Larry, however, was not going to let her off that easily.
"Didn't she tell you?" Larry wondered aloud.
Her stomach was in knots.
"Not that we blame Mrs. Crawley, of course," Tim added, his eyes gleaming. "Marriage is not something that people from her…background seem to consider carefully…know all of its ramifications and duties, as it were."
"And there is a difference between helping someone willingly and…well, actually being the kind of woman who would choose to marry him. You made that quite clear, didn't you?" Larry stared at Mrs. Crawley pleased at himself as she seemed to shrink at his carefully chosen words.
Isobel looked blankly ahead, attempting to remain indifferent. Inside, she felt the weight of their judgment - this public reminder of a decision she'd made months ago, a decision that she continued to struggle with, a decision she hoped to rectify if given the chance. She swallowed hard again, the tightness in her throat threatening to spill out, but she forced herself to speak evenly.
"I'm sure you are both concerned about your father's well-being, and I understand that," she said quietly. "But I would hope that, for once, we could focus on the present rather than…rehashing past decisions."
Edith, seated between her mother and Bertie, glanced at Larry and Tim, her brow furrowing in anger. She too recognized their underlying cruelty - like two lions cornering a gazelle. Edith was quick to speak, her voice sharp and direct, slicing through the tension.
"Larry, Tim, I think that's enough," she said, her tone firm. "Isobel has more than earned our respect, not only for what she did for Lord Merton but for who she is. And quite frankly, I will not sit here and listen to you belittle her any longer."
Tim opened his mouth to protest, but Edith's sharp gaze silenced him before he could utter another word.
Lord Grantham, who had been watching the exchange with increasing concern, nodded in agreement. "Indeed. You are both being rather unfair to both your father and Isobel."
Isobel felt a flush of gratitude wash over her, but it was quickly overshadowed by a cruel smirk that crossed Larry's face. He was not one to back down so easily.
"I'm only pointing out facts, Lord Grantham, Lady Edith," Larry said smoothly. "It's rather odd, don't you think? A woman from her background and station, spending all that time with our father at the hospital when she refused his proposal. I mean there were other patients to attend to, I'm sure of it. But I suppose some people cannot let an opportunity slip by to rub salt in the wound, even after they made their intentions perfectly clear."
Her rejection of Dickie - so painful at the time - had now become a weapon in their hands.
Her cheeks burning, Isobel swallowed the last remaining drops of her wine. The weight of Larry's words pressed down on her, and her mind scrambled for a response that would protect her dignity, but she found none. Her heart was heavy with the painful knowledge that they would never see her as anything but an outsider - someone unworthy of Dickie's love, even though she cared for him deeply, even though she loved him too.
Lady Mary, who had been observing, leaned forward now, her voice calm but full of unmistakable authority. "Larry, Tim, I've heard enough," she said, her tone steady. "I don't know what you think you are achieving by being so cruel and ruining this dinner party, but I can assure you it's neither clever nor appropriate. Isobel is a part of this family, and it's high time you show her the respect she deserves."
For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the clink of spoons on soup bowls. Larry and Tim seemed stunned, though neither would apologize. Daggers remained in their eyes.
Finally, Tim leaned forward, ready to deliver one final blow. "It's strange though, isn't it? How someone of her class can feel so comfortable around people like us, to have the Crawley family so quick to defend her. It's not often that a lawyer from Manchester winds up with an entire estate."
Isobel sat back in her chair, staring down at her plate, her fingers tightening around the edge of her napkin. How dare they mention my son! She had come here hoping for a pleasant evening to celebrate Dickie's recovery, but instead, she felt as though she had been dragged through a gauntlet. She could feel the heat rise in her chest, turning red. Her face flushing, she knew if she did not leave now, she could lose what remained of her composure.
Unable to stand it any longer, Isobel set down her spoon with a quiet clink and stood up, her movements swift and deliberate. She turned toward Lord Grantham, who had been watching her with a concerned expression. With a tight smile, she pushed her chair back. "I'm afraid I'm feeling rather unwell," she said, her voice trembling but controlled. "Thank you, but I must excuse myself."
She did not wait for a response, nor did she glance at Dickie, who was looking at her with sorrow. She simply walked away from the table and out the door of the dining room. She moved quickly, her heart pounding against her chest, desperate to escape the suffocating atmosphere.
As she stepped out into the entranceway, Mr. Carson was ready with her mantle, draping it over her shoulders and providing a sympathetic nod. She stepped outside, the cool air greeted her like a balm.
The sun had begun its slow descent, casting a warm, golden glow across Downton Abbey and the woods of the estate. Shades of pink, orange, and lavender painted the horizon, while the remaining light danced across the trees. Their shadows stretched longer, but there was still enough light to outline the world.
Isobel turned down Mr. Carson's offer to have her driven home to Crawley House. Instead, she began to walk to the green woods to shun everyone's view. She hoped the brisk wind would soothe the sting of their words.
She had never felt so small, so out of place. It was a feeling she never expected to wash over her at Downton Abbey. Although, she felt a modicum of relief from the Crawleys' defense, letting her know full well she belonged.
The green mantle around her shoulders now felt like a weight - a reminder of everything she could never be. It was just a memory now, a bittersweet gift of a moment in time that could not be reclaimed.
…
The silence that followed Isobel Crawley's abrupt departure from the dining room was more deafening than her chair scraping across the floor when she stood. Even the footmen seemed to pause mid-step as she walked quickly out of the door.
Lord Merton set his wine glass down with precision, his normally mild expression hardened into something far more formidable. His sons - Larry, red-faced and pompous, and Tim, oozing smugness - were caught somewhere between confusion and discomfort.
"I have tolerated your arrogance for long enough," Dickie said, his voice sharp and unyielding. "You disgrace this house with your pettiness and blind entitlement. You ruined an evening that was meant to be a cause for celebration and embarrassed me in front of our hosts."
"Father -" Larry began, but Dickie raised a hand.
"No! You will listen now. Isobel Crawley is the kindest, most intelligent woman I have had the good fortune to know, and I love her. I love her not despite your disapproval, but regardless of it. If you cannot accept that, then I suggest you remove yourselves from this table as easily as you dismissed her from it."
Across the table, the Dowager Countess of Grantham, who had said nothing throughout the affair - her eyes narrowing with each jab thrown Isobel's way - finally dabbed her mouth delicately with her napkin.
"Well this has taken an unexpectedly satisfactory turn," she murmured. "How gratifying to see a man put his long overdue foot down." Her sharp eyes fell on Larry and Tim. "Now, if only we could teach them to mind their manners as well as their place." She dared them to respond as they sat there looking sheepish, thinking up any excuse to leave while trying to save whatever face they had left.
Lord Merton, flushed and breathing heavily, looked around, suddenly aware of all the eyes upon him - Lady Mary's cool stare, Lord Grantham's concerned silence, and Tom's quiet approval.
The Dowager turned to Lord Merton, giving him a nudge.
"This, my dear Lord Merton," she said, folding her hands with imperial grace, "is the part in the story when the gentleman rises from his chair, dashes out into the night, and tells the lady he cannot imagine another minute without her."
Dickie blinked rapidly.
"Go," she urged with an almost theatrical sigh. "Before she joins a convent out of sheer exasperation."
With that, he pushed back his chair so quickly it startled Mr. Barrow into a cough of surprise. He strode from the room, not even bothering with his coat, his heart pounding faster than it had in years.
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