I haven't done a serious wooing story for a while, and I'm not sure if I've ever written one for Clarkson/Isobel. For Batwings by way of a Happy Christmas.

He had known almost as soon as he saw her that he'd seen her before. Where he did not know, but he had seen before, he was certain. It had been a long time ago. Memory being the uncertain thing that it is, he could not vouch for how much her appearance had changed overall, only that the things about her that he had particularly remembered had not changed in the slightest. He remembered, from somewhere in his younger days when he'd attended functions and receptions and drinks in the evening, that one night he had come across a woman- who in age was little more than a girl, but who had the assured air of someone much older- with the most remarkable eyes, thick light brown hair, and the slightest little dimples that you would miss if you were not watching closely. He remembered also that she had been very thoroughly engaged; he remembered hearing this, and his heart sinking. Allowing her to walk gracefully back off into the crowd, in her pale purple dress.

And now he was being introduced to her again, and being told that she answered to the name of Mrs Isobel Crawley.

For a moment he was sure that his mind was playing tricks on him. The chances, after all, of him coming across her again must have been implausibly slight. But no, as a doctor's wife, there was every possibility that she'd have been at one of those dreadful Medical Board receptions at least once. And giving the dull level of company that one usually encountered there, it was no wonder she'd stood out. And she still like to wear purple.

It occurred to him very suddenly that he hadn't said anything, that he probably should say something, and that he'd been gazing at her in profound shock for several moments, holding onto her hand. He would be prepared to bet his life's earnings that she did not remember him, and found his behaviour odd in the extreme.

He glanced apologetically towards Lady Grantham.

"I beg your pardon, your Ladyship," he told her, clearing his throat.

"It's quite alright, Dr Clarkson," she told him graciously, then, surveying the pair of the curiously, "Do you and Mrs Crawley know each other, by any chance?"

Before he could open his mouth to reply- though heaven knows what he was going to say-, she had answered for him.

"Not at all, I'm afraid not." She had a soft voice, refined and perfect diction, but unmistakeably soft round the edges, "Though I hope that's about to change."

And a warm smile. That was soft too; vulnerable, almost. He looked towards her Ladyship.

"Cousin Isobel was wondering if she might be able to do anything to help here at the hospital," Lady Grantham explained, "She made me promise to introduce you both."

"Oh, more than that. I almost dragged you here!"

He could not remember having heard her speak or seen her laugh the last time he's met her, yet both her smile and her laugh seemed to affirm his conviction that this was her. Yes, he was sure of it.

"Well," he cleared his throat, not without a little nervousness, "You certainly seem keen enough, Mrs Crawley. And I dare say I could find much use for your experience."

This seemed to delight her. A small rational part of him- one that was aware that he probably wouldn't have even considered doing this for anyone else, never mind doing it so eagerly- rather wished she'd stop beaming at him; it was making him feel rather guilty. It was too late now, though, to take back his decision on moral grounds: it was said and done.

Instead he simply shook her hand and spoke the truth.

"I can't wait for you to start, Mrs Crawley."

…...

He found in her a conscientious worker, a very capable nurse, and- on occasions- a mind-reader. Part of him almost resented not being able to amend for his selfishness in allowing her to volunteer at the hospital by dismissing her as incompetent, and being able to forget about her. But for the most part, she was nothing short of a Godsend, and on the afternoons when he had to go without her assistance he was left wondering how on earth he had coped at all before she arrived. He waited, day by day for something to arise to which she did not know the answer, some problem- medical or logistical- that she could not solve. But it turned out to be in vain. On the one occasion that she almost got him into trouble with Lady Violet, she also got him out of it, with distinction. Her competence verged on unnerving.

As well as this, he found her a pleasant presence to have around the hospital. Though at first he found that she chattered rather a lot, by the time he had got used to this, he found it endearing. She smiled a lot too, and sang under her breath when she thought no one was listening. She wore pretty clothes under her nurse's apron, that she insisted were scruffy. Within a few weeks of her company, he would have had to confess himself quite enchanted by her. The only fault that he could find in her presence in the hospital was not one of her own; he found it difficult not to be distracted by her.

And so it arose again that he found himself feeling guilty for favouring her, knowing that his motivations were mostly selfish, or at least self-centred. He doubted that he would have agreed in a heartbeat to her becoming the Chairman of the Board of Hospital Directors if he hadn't been so in love with her.

Please review if you have the time, or want any more of this. I'm on holiday, fanfic is a viable commodity for the next three weeks!