4 December 1959

It had been remarkably easy, in the end, bring Sir Patrick around to his way of thinking. Lucien had walked into their meeting with his back straight and his voice firm, trying to remind Sir Patrick - and himself - that he was king, and Parliament could not stand in his way, not now, not when it came to this; despite his show of confidence, however, he had not been certain whether his plan would succeed. There had been more than one damning piece of evidence in the article Sir Patrick had produced when last they'd discussed the prospect of Lucien marrying Jean, and so far only one of those obstacles had been dealt with. It was the most pressing, to be sure, but the circumstances of Jean's first marriage and her troublesome son had not changed, and would not ever.

And yet, when Lucien laid his case before the Prime Minister, Sir Patrick had only laughed, and capitulated at once. You're fantastically popular just now, Patrick had told him. If we try to stand in the way of your happiness I think our constituents might just come and string us all up by our toes. You have two heirs, now, and the Princess is young enough; she may marry again and give you more. Mrs. Beazley is a fine woman, and if you are set on her, well...I'll not stand in your way, Your Majesty. Not this time.

And that article you showed me? Lucien had pressed, hardly daring to believe his luck.

I can't guarantee that some of that information won't make its way out into the public sphere at some point, Sir Patrick had allowed, but with the backing of Parliament it need not destroy you. You must understand, sir, I only objected to this match previously because you lacked an heir. That has been remedied. I'll support you now, whatever you decide.

A plan had been made; much as Lucien wanted to simply stride out of the castle and straight to where Jean was waiting for him Matthew had counseled him to prudence. Go tomorrow, when the sun is up, Matthew had told him. I'll drive you myself. But you need to decide how to explain this to her. Jean thinks there's no hope for you two. You have to show her that there is.

How? Lucien had asked himself; how can I convince her that everything is different now, when so much remains the same? How can I show her that this dream of ours can come true? What would make her believe me?

It had taken some time for him to find the answers to those questions, but in the end he had, and with a plan now firmly in mind there was nothing for him to do now but wait, to hold on through the long dark hours of the night and into the brilliance of the dawn, to think of his Jean, and how he loved her, and how dearly he wished that he might be able to hold her once more.

To that end, then, he had carried himself down the glasshouse. Though winter was threatening outside beneath those high arching beams the air was warm and humid, the plants glorious and green, surrounding him with the lush fragrance of growth. He walked along the little paths there beneath the twinkling fairy lights, the sky black and fathomless above him, and he thought of Jean. He thought of her laugh, and the softness of her hands. He thought of her voice, and how gently she spoke to him, thought of the curve of her hip and her practical wisdom. He thought of her eyes, and her smile, thought of how completely he adored her, how desperately he wanted her. The dream of Jean; she had been wrested from him once, but now it seemed as if she was once more within his grasp, and there was nothing he wanted more to see her, to hold her, to make her happy, as she had made him. She deserved that happiness, he thought, more than anything else; she deserved to taste the bliss of satisfaction, rather than the bitterness of defeat which had so often been her lot in life. She was a marvel, an angel, a goddess, and he longed to worship her.

"Papa?"

Li's voice echoed softly through the still air, and Lucien smiled, for while he had intended to be alone this evening he was always glad of his daughter's company.

"Here," he called back, and in a moment she emerged onto the path before him, little Lin cradled in a cloth sling around her chest.

"I thought I might find you here," she told him. Her English was progressing nicely, but she almost exclusively spoke Mandarin to her father, and Lucien did not mind a bit, for it gave him the chance to practice, and Li's voice so reminded him of her mother's.

"Am I that predictable, my darling?" he asked her ruefully, tucking his hands in his pockets as she came to stand beside him.

"If you aren't in your room, then you are always here," Li told him with a little shrug. "I think you must have a fondness for the flowers."

Not only the flowers, Lucien thought, but even as the words drifted through his mind it occurred to him that he planned to make a rather titanic shift in the circumstances of his little family, and he had not yet spoken of it to Li. It was the worst sort of oversight, he thought, and so he sought to correct it at once.

"There's something I need to tell you," he said. "Will you sit with me?"

There was a little bench beside the path, and when Lucien gestured towards it Li nodded, and followed him. They sat together, and Lucien leaned forward, rested his forearms on his thighs, clasped his hands together and tried to come up with some way to explain all the thoughts that ran riot through his mind. He could not seem to find the words; how could he begin? How could he tell Li of his love for Jean, how he had lost her, when Li's own mother was dead and buried, a grief that should have followed him all the rest of his days? How could he begin to explain the political machinations that had pulled Jean from his side without completely terrifying Li in the process? The rules that constrained him would constrain her as well, and he did not want her to regret her decision to stay with him.

"They say no one else is allowed to come here." He had been quiet too long, and Li had, rather insightfully, found her own to direct the conversation. "I heard the maids talking about it. They say it's just for you. But you've never turned me away."

"No, and I never would, my darling. This castle is your home, and you may come and go as you wish. Whatever is mine is yours." No, he had not ever stopped Li coming to the glasshouse; he liked to see her walking among the flowers, with Lin in her arms, liked to see his girls happy and well. There was no one else he would trust with this place; the servants were terrible gossips and the nobles did not deserve such beauty. Li, though, Li was welcome, for he loved her.

"Then why?" she asked him softly. "Why not share this with everyone else?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about." No better time than now, he told himself. Just get it over with. "There was a woman. A housekeeper here. Her name was Jean."

Li's eyes widened slightly as he spoke and understanding began to dawn, but she did not interrupt him, and for that he was very grateful.

"She was...is, the loveliest woman. She was very kind to me. She made me feel at home here, when I thought I never could. I had this place built for her, because she loves flowers."

His voice deserted him, then; he had built the glasshouse as a monument to a love that could never be, but now that love was once more within his grasp, and his very bones ached with want of it.

"Where is she now?" Li asked him softly when he had been quiet too long.

"She had to go away," he said simply. "I loved her, very much, and I wanted her to be my wife. But you had not come home, my darling, and I did not have an heir. And Jean could not give me one. And so she left, so that I could marry someone who could. She left because she knew that I loved her, but I could not marry her."

"Oh, papa," Li said softly, sadly. "It's my fault she had to leave you. If I'd come back sooner-"

"No, my darling," he cut her off sharply. "No. None of this is your fault. You've done absolutely nothing wrong."

Li did not look as if she believed him, but she did not press the issue, either.

"Is it too late?" she asked him. "Is she too far away?"

"As it happens," Lucien answered, "no. I met with Sir Patrick today. Now that you have decided to stay, the politicians have agreed to support me, should I choose to marry Jean. I am going to see her tomorrow, to ask her to come back home with me."

"Tomorrow?" Li repeated faintly. She was swaying absently on the bench, lulling Lin into dreams with the steady movements of her body, but her brow was furrowed, her expression somewhat anxious. She had every right to be, Lucien knew; it had been less than three months since Li had arrived in the castle, and so much had changed in that time. She was still grieving the loss of her husband, was adjusting to life with a new baby, was learning a new language and a whole host of customs and traditions that must have seemed incredibly strange to her mind. There was so much change, all around her, and Lucien had just sprung another monumental change upon her. A new woman, a stranger, someone Li had never met and could not even imagine, would be coming to the castle, taking hold of Lucien's arm, joining their family unit; no doubt the thought was a daunting one.

"Yes," he said, and tried to measure his next words carefully. "I think that you will like her, very much. Jean didn't grow up in a castle like this. She isn't royalty, like me. She's just...she's just a very kind, very good woman. It was her idea that I go to Shanghai to see you, when I first learned where you were. If it weren't for her, I might have only sent you a letter, and our whole lives might have been very different. She has children of her own, two sons around the same age as you. And I think...I hope, that you might become friends, in time."

For several long moments Li was quiet, thinking over everything Lucien had told her; though the silence was tearing at him Lucien bit his tongue, for his daughter was a thoughtful sort of girl, and he knew better than to rush her. When she had something to say to him, she would say it, and the best thing for both of them would be to simply wait it out.

"I was worried, when I first came here, that you would have a wife. That there would be a woman here who hated me, because you were married to my mother first. I worried that she would not accept me. But you did not have a wife, and I...I've had you all to myself, these last few months. And I have enjoyed it so much. Just being with you, watching you with Lin. You have brought me such joy."

She turned to him then, their knees bumping together as she sought to look him in the eye. "But you have been so sad, papa," she told him, and the sincerity of her tone nearly knocked the wind from him. He had believed, before now, that he had succeeded in keeping his grief hidden from her, but he saw now how foolish he had been; Li was a clever girl, and an observant one.

"Will it make you happy, to marry your Jean?"

Will it make you happy?

Whatever you decide.

It was only a dream, Lucien.

You're always so sure you know best.

A man like you can't marry someone like me.

I love you. God help me, Lucien, but I love you.

The words bounced round and round his mind, fragments of a hundred remembered conversations. The scent of her perfume, the softness of her hair, her palm against his cheek. Would it make him happy, to hold her hand, to fall asleep with his arms around her, to live out the rest of his day with her beside him?

"It would," he said simply. "I love you, and I love Lin, and I am so glad to have our family whole, but-"

"You love her, too. A piece of your heart is missing."

"Yes."

The sentiment might have seemed strange, perhaps too insightful, coming from any other girl of her age, but Li was not just any other girl. Li had known starvation and fear, deprivation and calamity. At twenty-two years old Li was already a widow and a mother, and she had seen more of life than most. Even now, she had seen right to the very heart of his dilemma, and understood at once what it was he was feeling, what he needed.

"Then I am happy for you, papa," she said. "I hope that you find what you seek tomorrow."

"So do I, my darling," Lucien said, throwing his arm around her shoulders and leaning back against the bench as she nestled into his embrace. "So do I."

"And I think I shall have to thank her," Li murmured. "For sending you to me. And for this place; it is so beautiful, and I am happy here."

With Li's head tucked beneath his chin Lucien's tears fell with no one to witness them; he drew in a ragged breath, and kissed the top of her head. Please, god, he prayed for the first time in nearly two decades, let us all be happy here.