First time writing fanfiction in over three years, brought on by my incurable Richobel obsession. I hope it isn't dreadful.

Richard is in the Servant's Hall at Downton Abbey when he finds out. One of the hallboys has taken a tumble down the stairs and injured his wrist. After examining Donny and determining that it is simply a sprain, he has stopped to make sure he's correctly repacked his medical bag when he overhears two housemaids chattering outside. His head pops up at the sound of a familiar name.

"So Mrs. Crawley's definitely told him no then?"

"That's what I heard. She's not going to marry him after all."

"Well, I never. She could have been Lady Merton!"

"And been stepmother to those horrors! I wouldn't do it, I tell you."

"As if you'd ever have the chance, you!"

"Girls!" It is Mrs. Hughes' starchy Scottish-accented voice. "Shall we stop the gossip and get to work then? You are both needed upstairs."

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," they chime and are off in a flurry of light footsteps and giggling. Mrs. Hughes pokes her head around the door. She appears to be eying him oddly and he wonders if he is flushed. His face feels hot and his heart rate seems to have escalated.

"How's Donny then, Doctor?"

"His wrist isn't broken, luckily, just sprained. I've told him to keep some ice on it to help with the swelling and to avoid anything strenuous for a few days. If he's not up and back to normal in a week, let me know."

"Thanks so much for coming out, Doctor. Do stop by the kitchen on your way out; Mrs. Patmore's just baked scones. "

He thanks her and heads off. Halfway down the hall he realizes that he's forgotten his medical bag and has to go back to retrieve it. He does not stop by the kitchen, but goes straight outside. The sky overhead is a brilliant blue. He could have sworn it was grey when he came in, but then everything has seemed so grey to him for the past few months. Suddenly he is freshly aware of the brisk air on his cheek and the smell of smoke from the fireplaces inside and the world seems so much brighter and clearer and more colorful than it had an hour ago.

He's been feeling twinges in his bones lately, age finally catching up with him he supposes, but as he climbs onto his bicycle he feels as light and free as a schoolboy. As he pedals off toward the hospital he begins to hum, an old Scottish air from his childhood, and he can't keep an uncharacteristic grin of delight from spreading across his face. She may not be his, but she will not be Lord Merton's. She may not be his but she will still be here, will still be herself, and for now that is enough, that is everything, that is all Richard wants.