Jean was a pretty good detective herself. The morning mail was on the table by the door with letters tossed down—one on the floor. The letter opener lay by the mail, but no opened envelope.
Her conclusion: Lucien retrieved the mail, and took one piece away with him. No sign of him when she searched the house and garden. The car wasn't gone; where would he go on foot? He'd had appointments until ten, and she's returned from shopping at 10:30; he couldn't have gotten far.
She drove slowly, but not toward downtown. If it was something upsetting, he'd want to be alone.
That's where she found him, on a bench overlooking Lake Wendouree. He had a large envelope in his hands.
She sat beside him. "What is it, Lucien?"
He handed it over. It was from the Victoria Courts. She slid the enclosure out. "Your divorce decree."
"Maybe you shouldn't be here."
"Do you want me to leave?"
"No. But I don't want to upset you."
"Why would you?"
"Because—" He stared across the lake and didn't continue.
"Because you once loved her deeply and passionately. Because she's your daughter's mother. Because she came here to find her husband in love with another woman. She's a strong, proud woman. She wouldn't beg you. You're wondering if divorce was the right thing to do."
His head dipped to his chest. "Jean—"
"What would you have done if I hadn't been in the picture?"
His stricken expression made lay her head on his shoulder and grab his hand tightly. "It's alright, Lucien. Your devotion is why I love you. Forgive yourself."
After long minutes, he pressed his lips to her temple. "Ready to marry me, Jean Beazley?" he whispered.
Her face was the bright sun turned up to his. "Yes."