The mail is here. Robert sorts through the letters handing them out to their various recipients. There's one for Matthew from Murray and of course there's one for Edith from her editor. Robert himself has the usual assortment, except for this one. It's only small, written in a lady's hand and there's no clue on the envelope as to who it's from. The best course of action from here is to, of course, open it. Roberts does so and glances to the bottom. It's from Jane. His dear Jane, it's been years since he's heard from her.

Dear Robert,

I hope this letter finds you well and happy, it's all I ever wanted for you. I am well, as is Freddie. In fact Freddie is more than well, he is thriving and it's because of you. I am working as a seamstress from home and even though Freddie is away at school I'm not lonely because I have his little brother to care for. Bobby reminds me so much of his father.

I hope you'll understand I'm not asking for anything, I simply want you to know. Yours, Jane

Robert does well not to choke on his tea. It is happy news indeed but it also has the ability to affect his life in many ways should he choose to reveal it. And yet, his prevailing thought at the moment is that Jane has given him exactly what he has always wanted; a son. No, not wanted. Craved, desired, yearned for.

He stares at it, reading and re-reading, to take the news in, hardly able to believe it. He and Cora, they'd tried for years – he and Jane, it was just a couple of times, but she is the one who has his son.

Robert slumps back in his chair. What to do now? Keep it from Cora, of course. He can't hurt her like that. She'd never found out about Jane, but she'd guessed there was something wrong when she said, We're all right, aren't we? He'd tried to persuade himself they were, threw himself into making them right and not thinking about Jane. Where she was, what she was doing; how Freddie was. After a year he'd more or less succeeded at both.

I'm not asking for anything, I want you to know. Well, he knows now, and she must realise that she's handed him the one thing he's always wanted. Does she expect him to ignore that?

What to do, though? How to find her? Letter safely folded in his pocket, Robert sits back, staring out of the window while he thinks about this. He has to see the boy, of course. There's no way in the world he can live without seeing his son.

Jane's mother, he thinks. She lives in the village, Jane said. Mrs Bell. That amused him when Jane told him, she has a laugh like silver bells. An hour later, a fast decision made, Robert is walking through the village. Just off to visit a tenant, Carson (after a surreptitious glance at the rent books to check her address). He wonders how Jane's mother will greet him.

Mrs Bell isn't surprised to see him, or that he knows. She brings tea to the tiny front parlour, and they sit in an awkward silence. Finally he asks why Jane had not let him know when she found out.

"I told Jane to tell you," she says finally. "She wouldn't. It was over and done, she said, I was a fling for Robert, nothing more; I can't do that to him and the countess. So we cobbled together a story, that she married again and he ran off when she said she was expecting. We'd say she didn't want to be reminded of him, so she'd stay Jane Moorsum." Robert nods, drinks his tea.

"How is Freddie?"

"Doing well at school, my lord. Better than well. That money you give Jane gave her some breathing space, meant she didn't have to work before the baby came." Mrs Bell eyes him shrewdly. "He's bonny, my lord."

Until she says that he had no idea what he was going to do about all this. Now he does.

"Where are they?" She nods, satisfied. He's said the right thing.

"I told her you'd a right to know, and I'm glad she's come round." He leaves later with Jane's address.

OooOOOooo

For days he ponders what to do next, her address burning in his pocket. His Jane. So quiet and gentle, skin like soft white petals and long silken hair, crying with passion in his arms – dare he see her again? It was only a few times but she was in his blood like a fever for months before, and for months after she left the Abbey. He turns thoughts to and fro, round and round; his family, his wife; the money, now they are dependants on another man. How this news will change his life in so many ways, not all of them good. Mostly, though, he thinks about his son.

In the end the desire to see his child is overwhelming. One sharp spring day he goes to Ripon and stands for a long time outside a small terraced house, watching the daffodils in the front garden being blown flat by the wind. In the end he takes a deep breath and knocks at the front door.

Like her mother, Jane isn't surprised to see him, and like her mother, she ushers him into the parlour and fetches tea. They talk, trivial, polite things, while they watch each other. So much to ask, and answer, but this isn't the day.

"Your family are well, my lord?"

"Indeed. All except –" even now he can't say her name. Jane drops her gaze."I heard about Lady Sybil. I am so, so sorry, Robert." She doesn't say what people usually say, that the baby must be a consolation to them.

There is something he needs to say. "You were not just a fling, Jane." She shrugs.

"Thank you." She leaves the room and comes back a moment later hand in hand in hand with a little boy. One glance is enough for Robert to take in the bright blue eyes and the Grantham chin.

"Shake hands with his lordship, Robbie." Robert takes the tiny hand and shakes it solemnly. The boy looks at him wide eyed then flings himself at his mother, burying his face in her lap and gurgling with laughter. Jane strokes his hair.

"He's such a good boy, plays for hours while I'm working. I hear him singing to himself early in the morning." She bends and kisses the boy's curly hair. "Don't I, my man?"

"What is he called?" She lifts the boy on her lap. "Robert Moorsum." Jane sighs, then giggles. "I wanted to give him Crawley as a middle name and ma said, why don't you take out an advert telling the world he's the earl's son?" She looks grave all of a sudden.

"Robert. No-one knows but my mother and Freddie." Robbie wriggles out of her embrace, stretches out his arms to his father, and Robert looks at her in confusion. "Take him," Jane says softly.

Robert has forgotten how light small children are; he doesn't often hold little Sybil, and it's years since his girls were this young. He watches the bent head, and the tiny fingers exploring his watch chain and waistcoat pockets; and is overcome with an enormous surge of love. Jane is watching them both, smiling.

"I want to help," he says suddenly, hoarse with emotion. "To be – help where I can, be a father to him, a part of his life." Their eyes meet. "I want to be part of your life, and Freddie's." His free hand is resting on his knee, and carefully he holds it out to her, like he did that night; and like that night, she hesitates, then puts her hand in his.

"Do you?" she asks.

"I think you know I do," he replies, looking down at the boy in his arms. His son, their son.

All his life he has prayed for a son. Now, in an ironic twist of fate, the Almighty chooses to answer his prayer but in His infinite wisdom there is a price.

It is only right and proper to care for them both; this is his chance to teach him, to have someone to do the things he couldn't do with his girls. Most of all, it will be a way to have Jane in his life again. And never let her go.