A/N: Well ... this is it. It's curtains for this fic and I'm not sure how I feel about it! Happy, sad, ready to let go one moment and holding on for dear life the next.

To all who have read, reviewed, reblogged, chatted with me ... thank you from the bottom of my heart. I have never embarked upon a writing project of this magnitude before and your support has meant the world to me!

To ChelsieSouloftheAbbey ... I'm a bit verklempt here. You've done so much more than beta for me. You're an amazing mentor. You make me raise my game. "Thank you" doesn't begin to cover it, my friend. You rock.

To brenna-louise, you've been a great encouragement. How I enjoy dissecting Richobel with you!

This chapter finally concludes the flashback portion of our story ... by revisiting a key scene from Chapter 1. Richard and Isobel are moving forward together.

Check out Spotify ... username: ericajanebarry, playlist: Worthy and True. If for no other reason than to listen to the Van Morrison song. It is absolutely lovely.

xx,

~ejb~

These are the days by the sparkling river
His timely grace and our treasured find
This is the love of the one magician
Turned the water into wine

These are the days of the endless dancing and the
Long walks on the summer night
These are the days of the true romancing
When I'm holding you oh, so tight

These are the days now that we must savour
And we must enjoy as we can
These are the days that will last forever
You've got to hold them in your heart

-Van Morrison, "These Are the Days"

July 1922

By the time midsummer came, Richard and Isobel were well on their way to retirement. She rarely looked in on the nursing staff now as Nurse Redfern had taken to the position of head nurse with skill and professionalism. He still spent a couple of full days a week at the hospital, but it was more at the behest of young Doctor Samuel Burcham than due to any misgivings on his part. It was clear as day that Burcham was the right man for the job, the one to carry Downton Cottage Hospital into the future. He was eloquent and had a gentle, reassuring bedside manner. He was also calm under pressure, taking busy waiting rooms and full triage beds in stride. And he was unfazed by the long hours, taking to days that began well before sunrise and ended long after dark with exuberance.

Change had come to the home front as well. One of the first decisions the couple had made after Richard tendered his resignation was to dismantle the office he had kept at the cottage and turn it back into a bedroom as it was originally intended; specifically, as a nursery for George and for little Sybbie. Isobel had begun to keep the little girl a few half-days a week while Tom tended to matters concerning the running of the estate.

For Isobel, this had meant a journey back to her house in Manchester. Matthew's furniture was still there - the crib in which he was laid as an infant and the small bed in which he slept as a child - and seeing as she'd need both items in order to properly furnish the nursery, she decided they were put to better use by her grandchildren than they would be sitting in storage.

The purpose of the visit was severalfold. Not only was she to retrieve the furniture, but she had made the determination, in light of the wave of change that had swept through her life, to sell the Manchester house. After moving to Downton she had kept it for Matthew, for posterity. But now she had no reason to hold on to it any longer. Her life, her home, her heart, and the memories of her son were in Downton. She would let the house go to auction … no sense messing about with a private sale when the proceeds were not needed in order to support her lifestyle. Before returning home, she would visit the cemetery where Reginald was buried. She had not been since Matthew's death and, though she carried her first great love in her heart no matter where she was, somehow it seemed necessary to sit with him now, to be as physically near as possible and to talk with him about the loss of their son and the miracle of the second chance she had found at love.

Isobel made the trip alone. Her mission was to say goodbye to her past, the life and love that had found her early and had indelibly left their mark upon her character, so that she could move forward in boldness, embracing without reservation her serendipitous present and the promise of a bright future. And that was something she needed to do on her own.

Robert had offered to have his driver take Isobel to Manchester and bring her home and she'd accepted with gratitude. As she alighted from the car and looked upon the house from the street her stomach fluttered with nerves. She unlocked the door and stepped into the foyer. The house was pristine - she had paid to have it kept and cleaned in her absence - and mostly empty now, merely a shell of what it had been. The furnishings that hadn't moved with her to Downton had already been donated to charity except for Matthew's things, which were in the attic.

Despite the emptiness of the space, Isobel could look into any corner, or out any window, and call up a memory. There was the corridor where Matthew had taken his first toddling steps into her waiting arms, the banister down which he had slid every day (despite his parents' admonition) until the day he toppled off and broke his wrist, and the kitchen in which Isobel had prepared the family's meals while Matthew sat at the table, reciting Latin grammar and solving quadratic equations.

She ascended the stairs to the second floor. Here was the bedroom window in front of which had sat Isobel and Reginald's bed. She trailed her hand along the windowsill, closing her eyes as she recalled two decades' worth of precious, intimate memories made in this very room with her first love. It was here that Matthew was born, delivered by his father and placed upon Isobel's chest, as both husband and wife held their breaths and waited for their son to take his first. Outside the window was the yard in which Reginald and Matthew, along with his school chums, played rugby at the weekends.

Isobel climbed the stairs to the attic, thinking of rainy afternoons spent with five-year-old Matthew as they listened to the echo of their voices in this stairwell. She located his furniture just as the movers arrived. As they loaded the items into their lorry, she had one final look around and found herself longing to return to Downton, to her new love.

This was my house, but Richard is my home.

As she got into the car, Isobel took one last look back. This leg of the journey had not brought to the surface the sorrow she had expected. Perhaps this was owed to the fact that she had lived there for so very long after Reginald's passing but had left long before losing Matthew.

Goodbye, beautiful house, she thought. You bore witness to the very best of my past. May your walls contain just as much joy in the years to come.

When some time has passed us and the story can be told
It will mirror the strength and the courage of your soul
Oh, oh, I believe, I believe that it's gonna be alright
It's gonna be alright

-Sara Groves, "It's Going to be Alright"

The cemetery proved to be a greater test of her mettle. The driver left her at the gate and as she made her way to Reginald's grave she counted her steps as a means of keeping her composure. She sat down in front of the gravestone, running her fingertips over the inscription: 'Reginald Arthur Crawley, Born 3rd June 1857, Died 7th August 1902.'

"Oh, Reggie, my darling," she whispered as tears began to fall. She cleared her throat and took a steadying breath. "I'm so very sorry that Matthew made it home before I did. He was our world, wasn't he? It comforts me to know that he is with you now." Images of father and son rushed to her mind unbidden and Isobel watched them play before her eyes.

"I found love again," she said as a laugh welled up from deep within her soul. "Richard ... He … He saved my life when Matthew died. Did you send him to me? It almost feels as though you did! We were friends for so many years and then … I lost everything, Reggie. All that was left of you. And Richard brought me back. He reminded me of who I am. I love him, darling. I love him … because you taught me how to love. And it's so sweet the second time around." She turned her face to the sky, watching as a flock of birds swooped and rose, changing directions.

"So much of what made me the woman I am today, I owe to you. I know it was no easy task, loving me, and you did it so very well. I can love again because I carry you with me. I always will, darling. Always." Isobel brought her fingertips to her lips and kissed them, pressing them against the letters that formed Reginald's name.

"I love you," she concluded with a smile. "Take care of our son."

As she walked back to the car, the tears she shed were those of joy, of release. She had turned a corner today. It felt as though she had gained strength and courage by mourning Matthew's death in Reginald's presence. And although she could not quantify it, she knew that she had the blessing of her first great love to move forward into the fullness of life with the man who had come to hold her heart for all her days present and future.

I was running races, places
No one ever stopped to tell you why
I didn't know that I could, I would
Find a way to put that all aside
And get more of this

Sweet, sweet simple life and
Spending all my time
With you and me and family around
Get more of this
Sweet, sweet way of living
Didn't know what I was missing
Taking all for granted until now
Baby, slow me down

~The Willis Clan, "Slow Me Down"

It was approaching midnight when Richard arrived home, exhausted. First there had been an accident at one of the farms. A team of young farmhands had been plowing the fields for the planting of the fallow crop of winter wheat. The rear axle on one of the tractors had broken, causing injury to several young farmhands. The driver had sustained a concussion and a broken arm, one plowman a broken leg and another a dislocated shoulder. Then an expectant mother had called for him with what she believed to be labor pains but, alas, it was a false alarm.

He had originally planned to meet Isobel for dinner at the Abbey after she returned from her afternoon at the women's center in York. But when he knew he would be detained he sent word to her, knowing she would want to help and insisting she stay put. The gloom at the big house was just beginning to lift following Matthew's death. The relationship between Isobel and Mary had become very close since the older woman's retirement, and she and baby George, who was now ten months old, were positively smitten with one another. Richard would not deprive her of a moment she could spend with their grandson. She knew this without his saying so and loved him for it.

For her part that evening, Isobel had endured with grace the vitriol spewed at her by Violet and Robert over her choosing to return to working with women of ill repute. They insisted she was calling down scandal upon the entire Crawley family. Never mind that it was one afternoon a week and that she had the full support of her husband. Isobel had not quite recovered the strength, since the loss of her son, to return fire in the way she had been long accustomed. Mary had seen the weary look in the eyes of her mother-in-law and had compassion for her. Accordingly, Isobel had spent the remainder of the evening in the nursery with Mary and George.

She was well and truly exhausted when she arrived home and, after thanking Edith for the ride and bidding her good night, Isobel fixed herself a cup of tea and prepared for bed. She lit a fire in the bedroom fireplace, for despite the warmth of the day there was quite a chill come nightfall. Stripping bare, she slipped into the negligée gifted to her by Cora on her wedding day. There was a dressing gown that matched the nightgown but she chose to forego it, crossing the room to Richard's side of the bed and retrieving his from the nearby armchair instead. It held his scent, a heady combination of woodsmoke and his aftershave and something that she couldn't quite name, but that was so distinctly him. But it was not merely the fact that the garment smelled like him, it was like him, masculine yet soft and warm. As Isobel wrapped it around herself she imagined it was his arms around her and smiled. Tonight was the last time they would spend an evening apart like this. Just a few more hours and he would be home for good.

Her intention had been to wait up for her husband, but ten o'clock came and went with no sign of him and she couldn't will her eyes to stay open any longer. Finishing her tea, she penned a quick note to him and left it on the kitchen table.

R,
Wake me when you get home. I've missed you tonight. Forgive me my fatigue ... at least I've warmed up the bed for you.
Yours,
Bel

Returning to the bedroom, Isobel couldn't help but grin when she spotted MacTavish, their beagle pup, sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed with a look of longing on his face, his tail wagging. Her resolve was no match for his sad eyes and she gave in. "Oh, all right. Come on then," she said as she bent to pick him up. He wiggled excitedly in her arms and licked her face.

"I know, it's quite exciting," she said with an amused smile. "Yes, you settle in with Mum now. But when your daddy gets home, you're going back to your own bed." Her actions betrayed her true feelings as she dropped a kiss on his head. The dog had been her birthday gift to Richard after he had told her fondly of the beagle pups he and his parents used to raise. It hadn't taken long for her to be won over by the irresistible eyes, the ears and paws outsized for the rest of his little body, and the way that every time she sat down he was instantly in her lap; before she knew what had happened, his dog had become theirs.

Turning back the covers, Isobel draped Richard's dressing gown over the bedpost and climbed into bed, MacTavish curling up next to her. Embracing Richard's pillow, she buried her face in it. Being surrounded by his scent was not as gratifying as being enfolded in his arms, but it was enough to soothe her into a dreamless sleep.

That was how Richard found her, arms wrapped around his pillow, honey-colored curls spilling across hers. One shoulder was partially uncovered and he regarded the light blue strap of her gown with a smile. Wake me when you get home, she'd written. At least I've warmed up the bed for you.

Warm was exactly how she looked to him. And enticing. And his. He still could scarcely believe it.

They were married six months now, and in that short period they had made the transition from longtime friends to lovers; they had renovated his house, making it theirs. They had learned that marriage hardly called an end to the epic disagreements that had colored their past and they'd been faced with the choice between allowing contention to drive a wedge between them or moving beyond their differences to forge a deeper unity … and had come out on the winning end. At the outset they had determined to continue on in their positions of leadership at Downton Cottage Hospital, but they soon discovered that the only cause to which either desired to devote themselves with that kind of fervor any longer was their marriage.

He had just finished his final shift as a physician in the village of Downton. The hospital to which he'd given the last four decades of his life, and she the last ten years, had successfully been turned over to the next generation. Instead of feeling uncertain of his choice or reluctant to leave, Richard felt elated, perhaps even triumphant.

Now our life together begins in earnest, he thought as he took in the sight of his beautiful, sleeping bride, the woman who had changed the course of his life.

He knelt carefully on the bed, taking care not to disturb MacTavish. He kissed Isobel's cheek, her forehead. "Hello, my love," he said gently. "I'm home."

She whimpered softly in her sleep, her brow furrowing when she registered the intrusion. He smiled. How he loved to watch as one expression after another flitted across her face. He kissed her mouth, smiling against her lips when she responded.

She opened her eyes to look directly into the piercing blue of his. "Richard! When did you get here?" she asked, her voice heavy with sleep. She reached for his hands and pulled him in for a proper kiss.

"Just now, my darling. This is it, Isobel. I'm finished!"

She beamed, thinking she hadn't seen him look so pleased in all the years she'd known him. "I'd ask how you felt about that, but the answer is written all over your face! I am so happy for you, Richard. Congratulations, my love!"

"It's all thanks to you, Bel. Will you do something with me?"

She fixed him with a curious look. "Oh, there's definitely something I intend to do with you," she teased. He winked at her and drew her close enough to kiss once more.

"We've all night for that, my beauty." His eyes twinkled and she raised an eyebrow at him. My, but he was in rare form! "Come with me, Isobel?"

"Come with you?! Darling, I'm hardly properly dressed!"

"No matter," he said. "By the looks of it you were wearing my dressing gown earlier. Put it back on and come with me. I've something to show you."

She shook her head, incredulous at his behavior, and laughed. "All right, all right, I'm coming! Let's take the wee one; if he goes out now we can lie in in the morning."

Now it was his turn to laugh. His dog had become the wee one.

"I see we're allowing the wee one to sleep in our bed now, aye?" It was something she'd said she would never permit.

"Just you hush, Doctor!" She returned his banter and got out of bed, donning his dressing gown.

He picked up MacTavish and carried him down the stairs. Isobel followed him out onto the patio, where he had poured two glasses of wine and brought a candle from the kitchen to light their way. He put MacTavish down in the grass and beckoned Isobel to sit down on the stone bench. He brought along their wine glasses and handed one to her as he sat beside her. They held each other as they observed the luminescent glow of the moonlight upon the white roses - the very ones Isobel had insisted Violet allow her to transplant from the gardens at the Dower House. The chirping of crickets and the churring call of nightjars resounded like a symphony in the darkness and the fragrance of mock orange combined with woodsmoke to create an aroma that Isobel would ever after identify as summertime with Richard.

It was a beautiful night, the moon full, stars shining brightly. She stole a glance at him and caught him watching her.

"What?!" she grinned.

"You're exquisite in the moonlight, under the stars," he said, his voice husky. "Merely appreciating the beauty of creation." He shrugged cheekily and she stood, trailing a hand behind herself to indicate he should follow. She leaned against the stone wall and turned her face skyward.

"Have I told you my favorite part of living here, in this house?" she asked. "Besides you, I mean."

"I don't believe you have," came his soft reply as he stood just behind her and off to the side. He wrapped an arm around her waist. She could feel his warm breath on her neck and she sighed with contentment, desire beginning to stir low in her belly.

"It's the stars, Richard. We're far enough away from the village that there are no lights to obscure our view. My, but there are so many of them, aren't there?!"

He smiled in satisfaction. He had known she'd be enthralled by the night sky, and what better night than this to share it with her. "Aye, there are indeed. God's sweet lanterns." He kissed the side of her neck, the sensitive skin behind her ear. She leaned into him.

"That's lovely, Richard. Who is it … Burns? Yeats?" They read both together often, but she couldn't place the sentiment.

"Clarkson," he answered quietly.

She turned to face him, nonplussed. "Truly?" she asked, and he nodded. "The poets should have come to you, love." She knew that she'd embarrass him if she said much more, so she wrapped her arms around his waist and let him hold her as together they surveyed the vastness of the night sky.

"We'll have so many nights like this now, Isobel. Opportunities to enjoy things we've long taken for granted. I can't remember the last time it occurred to me to look at the stars."

She hummed in agreement and rested her forehead against his. "You'd have been working, called into emergency surgery or attending a birth. And if not then you'd be desperately trying to catch a few good hours of sleep before you had to wake up and do it all again. I did the same for many years and you're right, it never even crossed my mind that I was missing out on moments like this." Her arms went around his neck and his hands spanned her waist. "I don't think I've ever seen you this happy, Richard. This was unequivocally the right decision for us, for our future." She raised up on tiptoe and whispered the next words, the ones that meant more to him than any others, into his ear.

"I'm so very proud of you, my love." She kissed him there, a feather-light brush of lips against the place where his ear met the line of his jaw. One of his hands came up to cradle her face while the other slid to her hip, his thumb tracing circles there. Each held the other's gaze until his lips touched hers, and he moaned as her lips parted for him.

When the kiss broke they stood smiling at one another. Isobel reached up to trace the shape of his lips with her fingertips and he kissed each one in turn.

"You," Richard said raptly, kissing the tip of her nose. "You are everything that was lacking in my life, Isobel. I lived a lifetime surrounded by eminence and grandeur and show, always on the outside; never belonging anywhere. And then you swept in like a torrent and challenged my every notion. There is nothing I'd rather do than to spend the rest of my days loving you, and I'm finally free to do exactly that."

Her eyes sparkled as she looked at him. "And there's no better time to begin than now." She kissed him this time, a series of playful nips at his bottom lip that had them both longing for more.

"Take me to bed, Richard," Isobel panted. "We've so very much to celebrate and I can think of no better way."

He had never seen her smile so much or so brightly. She was healing, the dark days behind them both now. Even their most difficult moments had drawn them closer to one another, and with a firm foundation beneath their feet and a future as limitless as their dreams, why wouldn't they be joyful?

He leaned in unexpectedly, stealing one more kiss … and her breath. She laughed at being caught unawares and it rang through the night, music to his ears. She was glorious.

"Oh, but you are beautiful," he sighed happily, tracing the contour of her cheekbone with his thumb.

He whistled for MacTavish, who bounded through the grass, nearly tripping over his ears as he made his way to them. The pair laughed and Isobel scooped the pup into her arms as they went inside. He settled into his bed and was asleep in mere moments.

Isobel stood by the fire, her back to Richard as she warmed her chilled fingers. He stepped up behind her and slipped his hands beneath the fabric of the dressing gown at her shoulders. She pulled her arms out of the garment and he glided his palms down over her collarbones, her sternum, coming to rest on her breasts. She moaned and as he pulled her back against his chest he felt her nipples stiffen. He rolled them between his fingers and she writhed against him.

"I love the way you feel in my arms, Isobel; the way you respond to my touch. Is this what you want, my beauty?" he whispered.

"Yes, Richard," she breathed, tilting her head to the side to give him access to the soft skin of the back of her neck. His lips and teeth explored the salty-sweet taste of her as he massaged her nipples and she reached behind them to hold his hips, grinding softly against his arousal.

A strangled groan escaped his lips at the feel of her beautiful bottom pressed against him and he rolled his hips into her.

"We need to lie down," came her breathy whisper and she turned in his arms. She watched his eyes darken as his gaze fell upon her breasts, barely concealed beneath the diaphanous silk gauze of her negligée.

"Oh, the way you look at me," she said, smiling in a way that reflected the fullness of joy held within her heart.

"You are altogether lovely, my Bel." He brought a hand up to brush back the hair at her temples and followed his touch with the brush of his lips. "Beautiful mind."

He trailed the tips of his fingers down over her cheek, the line of her jaw, her long, slender neck and strong, delicate shoulders. He kissed the hollow at the base of her throat, moving downward until he could feel her heartbeat beneath his lips. His arousal surged as he felt her life force, warm and vital and real. "Beautiful heart," he rasped.

He knelt on the floor in front of her and untied the robe where it still hung at her waist.

It fell to the floor, leaving her in the filmy gossamer gown, the flickering firelight casting its amber glow upon her skin. He tugged on her hands and she came to kneel facing him. He lifted the hem of the gown, his fingertips tingling as they came in contact with the flesh of her back, her bottom, her abdomen and ribs. Her arms came around his neck, pressing her breasts against his chest. He closed his eyes at the feel of her. "Beautiful body," he whispered, and she felt it as his lips ghosted over the tender skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

Gooseflesh rose where his breath met her skin and she cupped his chin in her hand, making him meet her eyes. "How does this happen every time?" She giggled at the disparity in their states of undress. "Here I am nearly in the altogether while you're still fully clothed. Come here." She took his hand and unfastened the buttons at his cuff, turning his wrist over and pressing her lips to the pulse point. She repeated the action on the other wrist, her eyes holding his in a heated gaze as her lips met his skin.

She then brought her hands to his collar, and as she undid the top two buttons she bowed her head to suck at the skin she exposed. He closed his eyes and she watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. She nipped him there with the sharp edges of her teeth and he growled, pulling her hips flush against his.

Another button, then two, and she flattened her palms against his chest, scratching her fingernails across his nipples.

"Isobel," he gasped, his hands grasping her bottom roughly.

"Good?" she asked, stealing a heated kiss.

"Yesss," he hissed, and she smoothed her hands over his shoulders as she bent to take one of his nipples between her teeth. He swore softly and she laughed, repeating her actions on the other one. His trousers were becoming painfully tight and he loosened his belt and undid the fastenings as she rid him of his shirt. He had to stand in order to step out of his trousers, shorts and socks, and before he could bring himself back to a kneeling position he felt her hand engulf the length of him.

"May I do this for you, Richard? Is this what you want?" She looked up at him as she stroked him with one hand and traced the sensitive skin of his inner thighs with the other, her eyes dark with desire and filled with such love and admiration that it made his heart ache in the most pleasant of ways.

"Touch me, Bel," he panted, his control stretched thin. When he felt her mouth wrap around him, her tongue swirling around the tip, he clutched at her shoulders. She was gratified when she heard him begin to murmur senselessly, mostly in Gaelic, most of which she understood … Most of which he would never dream of saying to her outside of the heat of the moment. She treasured the fact that she knew him this way, got to witness him in these moments; the way he relinquished his well-crafted control to her. No one but she knew this side of him: fiery, passionate, hers.

"Isobel, sweetheart." He breathed heavily, smoothing his fingertips across her forehead, and she released him from her mouth, continuing to hold him in her warm palm. "Come here."

He brought her to stand, wrapping his arms around her waist. She saw the earnest look in his eyes and knew he was about to share something that made him feel vulnerable. She loved him the most in these moments; she was overcome with gratitude at being the one he trusted implicitly.

"I want to be inside you," he breathed against her ear, speaking just above a whisper. She realized he hadn't often been the one to ask for this; he usually deferred to her, or was happy to let her set the pace when they made love.

Not only did it make her heart sing, hearing him make this most intimate of confessions, but it aroused her greatly, and she ached for him to join with her.

"Yes, Richard," she gasped, taking his lips roughly. She reached behind them to grab a couple of throw pillows off the settee at the foot of the bed. He lay on his back and she on her stomach on the soft sheepskin rug, propping herself up on her elbows to look at him. Words would have embarrassed him, he who kept his emotions so closely guarded, so she told him with her eyes all that she could not say.

Thank you for trusting me enough to ask for what you need. It takes a mighty man to admit his vulnerability. Let me love you, my darling.

With her lips she asked him how she could please him. "Shall I … like this?" She straddled his hips, the tip of him brushing against her entrance. He could feel how slick she was and he twitched against her, making her moan in anticipation.

"Yes," he said huskily. "Please." He reached between them, his fingers slipping against her, tracing soft circles over her moist heat as he reached to guide himself into her. They looked into one another's eyes, hers going wide as she took his length within her.

She ground her hips into his when she had taken all of him, and he pulled her against his chest. She could feel his full length, the pulse of him within her, and she rolled her pelvis into him. They both loved to savor the moment of their joining, to prolong it for as long as possible.

She felt like saying it all to him, all of the unfettered, unfiltered words that meant she loved this, wanted him, lived for moments like these.

"Oh, Richard, I can feel all of you like this … just there … so good!" She continued to murmur to him, some of it senseless and all of it lovely to his ears as he smoothed his hands over her bare back, mapping her vertebrae. Her nipples were hard where they pressed against his chest and it wasn't long before he couldn't bear to keep still.

"Isobel … move for me, lover," he rumbled, and she lifted her head from his chest to nip at his lips in response to his words. She leaned back, resting her hands behind herself on his thighs as she rocked her hips back and forth. He couldn't stop touching her, filling his palms with the sweet, warm weight of her breasts as she moved over him. She leaned forward to kiss him and he hissed at the shift in position, tilting his hips up into her.

"I want to feel you all around me," she said breathily, moving off him to lie on her side with him behind her. He lifted her leg to rest on top of his, opening her to him and his fingers slipped down to brush against the bundle of nerves that made her cry out in pleasure, and as he slipped inside her warmth again she pushed back against him, taking him in fully. He continued to touch her, fingers sliding against her folds and then tracing up over the softness of her abdomen, ghosting across her ribs and coming to rest on her breast, kneading the peak. He felt himself brush against a ridge inside of her that made them both gasp and he set up a rhythm of strokes that caused him to hit that spot over and over and then she stilled, stopped murmuring, stopped breathing.

"Richard!" she exclaimed in a half-whisper as she came, halting the movement of his fingers with her own. She kept his hand pressed against her and they rode out her release that way, prolonging it with his steady touch.

"Oh, my love," she gasped as the aftershocks subsided, "let me feel you move."

He grinned, setting a pace that was maddening for the both of them. He knew how sensitive she was after she came, how she could feel him even more acutely, and he treasured the lustful, nonsensical cries that issued from her lips. He lost himself in the sound and the feel of her and his climax came upon him powerfully.

She wanted to see him, to hold him as he recovered, but he had come to favor remaining buried within her for as long as possible after they made love. She smiled. She had taught him that. She settled for speaking softly to him, twining her fingers through his where his hand rested on her abdomen.

"My love, I think it's safe to say that retirement suits you." He could hear the smile in her voice and he brushed his thumb against hers.

"Aye, lass," he answered, and she thought she could hear the twinkle in his eye. "But not quite as fittingly as you suit me."

"Flatterer," she teased. They fell silent for several moments, listening to the crackling of the fire and the sounds of their breathing, the pup's soft snores; sweet and simple sounds of a life shared.

As he slipped out of her they both bemoaned the loss, but Isobel rose and walked toward the bed, giving Richard a delightful view of her bare form as she retreated.

"Pick your jaw up off the floor and join me," she said with a satisfied smile as she turned back the covers.

He shook his head and grinned at her, coming around to his side of the bed. They climbed beneath the covers and he gathered her against his chest as he pulled the blankets over them.

"I love you, Isobel. You're my whole world," he whispered as she settled herself along the length of his body.

"Love you …" she answered. Sated and drowsy, she pressed a kiss over his heart as her eyes slipped shut.

This is the first night of the rest of my life, Richard thought, a smile gracing his lips as sleep claimed him.

On the evening of their retirement party, Isobel watched as Richard stood before the mirror buttoning his waistcoat. He fussed with the collar of his shirt and she grinned at him. He caught her staring and turned toward her with a hint of amusement on his face. "My discomfort is bringing you joy, is it? It's this infernal stiff collar. May need sutures before the night is through."

Her eyes crinkled in a smile and she stepped closer to him. "Luckily for you, your wife has very practiced hands when it comes to that," she teased. "Come here, I'll see what I can do."

She detached the collar from the shirt and retrieved a bottle from her vanity top. Dusting her fingertips with the white powder it contained, she applied them to his neck, taking care to cover every bit of skin the collar would touch.

The nearness of her was intoxicating to him and he held his breath as her gentle fingers moved over his carotid pulse. He brought a hand to her hip and she hummed appreciatively. She knew precisely what he was thinking.

She refastened the collar and buttoned it, slipping a finger between the garment and his skin to check her work. "There," she said, satisfied. "Now it won't chafe." She took up his white bow tie and brought it around his neck, tying it swiftly.

All the while he held perfectly still, a grin quirking at the corners of his mouth. "However did I manage to dress myself before you came along?" He couldn't resist ribbing her, but in truth he cherished moments like this; the fact that she loved him enough to concern herself with these details.

"The cheek on you!" She feigned annoyance but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her, and she pinned the lavender boutonnière to his lapel and stood back to assess his appearance.

"My, but you are dashing," she said with eyes full of sincerity. He caught her about the waist and pulled her in for a gentle kiss.

"Are we ready to go?" he asked as their lips parted.

She withdrew an item from her jewelry armoire and nodded at him. "Momentarily," she said. "Would you just? …" She held up the necklace he had given her on the eve of their wedding and he came up behind her.

"Ah, of course," he replied, taking it from her and bringing it around her neck. He fastened the clasp and pressed his lips to the soft, warm skin his fingers had just touched. She moaned softly, squirming a little.

"Mmmm, love … Later," she sighed. "Let's go." She turned in his arms and they shared one more lingering kiss before they made their way downstairs and into the car.

The Abbey was abuzz when they arrived. Carson greeted them at the door and escorted them to the drawing room.

"Good evening, Doctor Clarkson, Mrs. Clarkson. May I be the first to offer congratulations on your retirement?" The butler's air was genial and Isobel's curiosity was piqued.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson," Richard replied. "I'm aware it was a bold move, but so far it's been a wise one."

"What about you, Carson? Have you ever given it any thought?" Isobel asked, deciding to test the waters with him just a little. She was attempting to discern from his demeanor whether there had been any progress made between he and Elsie.

He raised an eyebrow at the pair. "Retirement? Not on pain of death," he said, but while his tone was curt his eyes beheld the smallest hint of a smile.

Something has happened, Isobel thought, feeling giddy. She exchanged a knowing look with Richard as Carson took his leave of them.

Cocktails were served and soon Richard and Isobel were caught up in revelry with their family and friends. Cora embraced Isobel and the two began to discuss how well the party had come off. Tom and Richard spoke of cricket - Tom wanted to recruit Richard for the house team now that he was one of the family - and of little Sybbie, who had taken a particular shine to her grandfather.

Dinner was delicious and the conversation full of reverie as family members shared fond stories of how Richard had cared for them over the years. Edith related the story of the badly broken leg she had suffered at age ten when she'd fallen from a horse while learning to jump. Richard had distracted her from the pain of setting the break by telling the tale of Bride and Angus, the battle of the seasons. So enthralled was she with the story that she refused to let him leave her side until he finished its retelling. Mary told of the time when she had scarlet fever and Richard, concerned about her high fever, sat up all night with her as she soaked in ice baths, calming her with Scottish lullabies.

The meal concluded as Robert stood, flanked by Cora on one side and Violet on the other, and raised a toast to Richard and Isobel.

"As the Board of Directors we cannot begin to express our gratitude for the lives you've saved, the children who have grown to adulthood under your watchful eyes. We feel there is no more fitting a tribute than to dedicate the hospital in honor of you both."

At these words, in walked Doctor Burcham and Nurse Redfern, who came to stand with the Granthams. One of the footmen passed an object to Robert, who pulled back the cloth covering it to reveal an artist's rendering of a plaque bearing the name of the hospital … with both of theirs added to it. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Doctor Richard and Isobel Clarkson Downton Cottage Hospital!"

The table erupted in applause and Isobel glanced at Richard with tears in her eyes. They rose from their seats, embracing Robert, Violet, Cora and the young doctor and nurse. Richard was truly overwhelmed and finally began to comprehend the esteem in which he was held by the family to which he now belonged. Perhaps it was not the manner in which he would have chosen to come by belonging to a group of people, but for the very first time he began to see them as his people.

After dinner the nanny brought George and Sybbie in to join their grandparents. A musical group began to play traditional Scottish tunes and the servants were invited to come and listen. Tom stepped onto the dance floor with Sybbie in his arms, whirling and twirling her to the music as she erupted in a fit of giggles. She whispered something in Tom's ear and he nodded, setting her down with a peculiar grin on his face.

Sybbie approached Richard, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket. "Dance, Granddad?" she asked, all smiles and with big, innocent blue eyes.

"Now, who could refuse such an offer, lovely lass?" he answered, his eyes twinkling as he glanced at his wife and lifted his granddaughter into his arms. Isobel pressed a hand to her mouth as tears of joy sprang to her eyes. She had never loved him more.

Richard stood Sybbie atop his feet and held her hands as the musicians began a Scottish waltz. The ladies gathered to watch as grandfather and granddaughter danced and laughed with one another, the sweetness of the moment touching hearts around the room. Richard whispered something to Sybbie as the song concluded and she faced the assembly, attempting her best curtsy. Everyone applauded and Richard swung her into his arms as they left the dance floor.

Isobel approached the pair, baby George perched on her hip. "That was splendid, you two," she said. "Sybbie, you're a lovely dancer." She pressed a kiss to Richard's cheek. "And you were absolutely beautiful with her," she whispered. "You take my breath away."

When the children were off to bed, the musicians began to play a series of reels and the dance floor filled with family and servants alike. It warmed Isobel's heart to see all who had played significant roles in the lives of herself and her husband come together in celebration. She danced with Tom, the both of them laughing until their sides ached, and when the song was through she stepped to the back of the room for a drink, in need of refreshment.

It was then that she spotted Elsie, and as their eyes met Isobel could see a look of barely-contained excitement in her friend's eyes.

"Congratulations, Isobel. It's quite the lovely to-do you and Lady Grantham planned. And I heard about the dedication of the hospital. What an honor!"

"It is, and there's to be a formal ceremony in a month, making it official. I was rather taken aback by it all, considering that my last conversation with Robert and Violet centered around my foisting scandal upon the family's good name." Isobel rolled her eyes and the women shared a laugh. "But never mind all that! There's something you want to tell me, isn't there?"

Elsie glanced around them to verify that they hadn't drawn unwanted attention. She beckoned to Isobel and they stepped outside the doors to the drawing room, standing against the wall.

When she was certain of their privacy, Elsie spoke. "While the family were in London last week for Lady Rose's presentation, the staff spent a day at the seaside. Remember the day when you told me to watch for an opportunity to offer Mr. Carson the same steadying hand he has always extended to me?"

Isobel nodded, feeling giddy. Elsie stepped closer and clasped Isobel's hands in hers.

"I did it," she said simply, smiling brightly.

"You did?!" Isobel covered her mouth with her hand, understanding the need for discretion but barely able to contain her excitement.

Elsie nodded, nibbling her lip with nervous excitement.

"Oh, Elsie! That explains the look on his face! Oh, I can't stand it! You've dropped this bombshell and we can't even properly discuss it. You must come to me for tea and tell me everything. Will you?"

Elsie laughed at her friend's exuberance. "Of course. We'll work out the details later. You must get back to the party. But I want you to know you were right, and I'm ever so glad I took your advice."

"Elsie, your news has made my night! My friend, you won't be sorry! Love is magnificent at any age, but at our age … oh! Just you wait and see." The two women squeezed one another's hands and shared one more smile as they parted.

Back in the drawing room, the musicians had begun to play contemporary songs. Isobel spotted Richard dancing with Violet and felt for what seemed like the hundredth time that night like her heart could not contain all the joy she felt. She often thought that Violet gave utterance to many of the thoughts Richard had but would never dare speak forth. They were an odd pairing, but Isobel could see that they understood each other on many levels. For all that the older woman could cut her to the quick with just one word, Isobel valued Violet as one of her dearest friends, so the fact that she and Richard were growing closer meant a great deal to her.

The song changed and Isobel watched Richard kiss Violet's hand before placing it in Tom's. He made his way toward her and her heart began to beat faster.

"There you are, beauty. Where did you get to?" He offered her a drink but she declined.

"Tom convinced me to reel with him after the children went to bed and I needed a respite afterward. I caught sight of Elsie as I was getting a drink and she shared some news with me." Her eyes sparkled and Richard smiled.

"Is this news anything to do with Mr. Carson?" His curiosity delighted her.

"I don't know the details - she's going to come for tea and will tell me more then. But it would seem they've had a conversation about which she feels positively. Oh, Richard … What we have … I want it so badly for them!"

With a shake of his head he grinned at her, taking her hand. "Patience, Isobel. As much as you desire to play matchmaker in your free time, you must let the chips fall where they may."

She huffed at him, but she knew he was right. "Your pragmatism frustrates me, but you are very wise," she said.

"Save your frustration for when I've earned it and come dance with me." He led her to the center of the floor as the group began to play another song. He drew her close, clasping her hand over his heart as they moved to the music.

"Listen to the words, Isobel," Richard whispered against her temple. "They could have been written about you, love." He caressed the small of her back with his thumb as he held her and she lay her head against his chest.

Give me a smile, the love-light in your eyes
Life could not hold a sweeter paradise
Give me the right to love you all the while
My world forever, the sunshine of your smile.

Shadows may fall across the land and sea
Sunshine from all the world may hidden be
But I shall see no clouds across the sun
Your smile shall light my life till life is done.

The dance floor emptied of all but the honored couple and the guests gathered on the perimeters to watch as they swayed to the music, oblivious to the presence of anyone but the two of them. As Mary looked on she stifled a sob, tears filling her eyes. This song was one she and Matthew had danced to often, swaying to the music in their bedroom as the record played on his gramophone.

Mary's thoughts turned to Isobel. She had always had a fondness for the bull-headed, outspoken woman who had become her mother-in-law. In the wake of Matthew's death she and Isobel had sought refuge in the other's company and now Mary knew that Isobel's strength was borne of great loss, forged in deep darkness. Isobel had always held out hope for brighter days, and she had found them at long last in the arms of Richard Clarkson. Thanks to Isobel, Mary had begun to have hopes for her own future happiness.

Suddenly Mary knew what she needed to do, and she enlisted Carson's help to carry out her plan.

As the song came to an end, Richard lifted Isobel's chin and their eyes met. He had yet to demonstrate his affection for her in the presence of others, but now he tilted her head gently and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss filled with love and promise. They lingered for as long as propriety allowed and when their lips parted, Richard led Isobel off the floor and stood with her near the door.

The crowd was thinning out as the evening drew to a close and while he was grateful for all that had transpired, he was also spent. Isobel saw it in his eyes and wrapped an arm around his waist, kneading the tight muscles at the small of his back. They said goodbye to the guests as they filtered out and soon it was time for them to leave as well.

They stood in the foyer with Cora and Robert, thanking them for the lovely gathering and expressing their surprise at the renaming of the hospital. Just as they were about to leave, Mary appeared and with her was Carson … carrying Matthew's gramophone.

"Isobel, Richard, before you go … I saw you dancing tonight, and it brought back memories both treasured and painful for me." She looked away briefly and then continued.

"Matthew and I used to love that song. I … I want you to have this. Isobel, you've survived so much and if anyone was ever deserving of happiness, it's you. And Richard, your love has made Isobel whole again. The two of you have many more dances in your future …" She looked into Isobel's eyes and neither woman could contain the tears.

Mary's voice broke as she spoke the final words. "And if Matthew were here I know he would say the same."

Isobel swept Mary into her embrace. "Oh, my darling girl! What a gift you've given us. We will treasure it, of that you can be sure." She wiped away Mary's tears and kissed her cheek.

Richard nodded solemnly. "It will see much use, Mary. Thank you kindly."

When Richard and Carson had loaded the gramophone into the car, he and Isobel set off for the cottage. Upon their arrival she helped him into the house with it. They placed it near the piano in the sitting room, where there would be plenty of room to dance.

As they lay in bed that night, Richard and Isobel whispered to one another of their plans for the future and their joys of the present. Yes, it had taken tragedy to drive them into one another's arms, and they had lived long enough to know that they would walk through dark valleys again. But in the ashes they forged a love so strong that it brought them to their knees, a love that inspired the next generation to seek out beauty and truth. However many were the days on their horizon, they would spend them holding fast to one another and to the love that transcended time.

I foresee a sequel ... but I would love to hear your thoughts. What would you like to see from Isobel and Richard in the future? Do chime in, lovely readers!