5 December 1959

"It's beautiful here, Jean," Lucien told her as they stood together in her back garden, the sunlight warm upon their faces but the air cool and crisp with the taste of winter. Here was the home that Jean had made, the garden she had lovingly cultivated with her own hands, and everywhere Lucien looked he could see her fingerprints, and he rejoiced in it.

She smiled up at him, her eyes clear and bright, such joy on her face as he had not seen there for quite some time. What a marvel she was, this woman he adored, what a miracle it seemed - for he could find no other word to describe it - that he should find himself once more standing beside her, knowing that she had chosen him, that they would be together, forever, from this day forward. It was a blessing he had thought lost to him, a mercy he had thought beyond his reach, and yet now here she stood, and he could not stop himself from leaning in to press his lips against her temple. It was an indulgence he had long been denied, touching her, kissing her, and he wanted to seize every opportunity now.

"I'm glad you like it," she told him. "You should have seen it in the summer. It was more beautiful then."

No doubt that was true, but Lucien did not want to think of that long, terrible summer, the sorrow that had gripped him in her absence, the hopelessness, the frustration that had dogged his steps. What he wanted, more than anything, was to put it behind them, and he supposed they had, for the wheels were in motion now, and there would be no stopping their engagement, their marriage, not now.

As the drinks began to flow at the pub Lucien had whispered a few commands to his guards, and he and Jean had slipped quietly out of the room. The publican was under orders to send the bill for the day's festivities to the castle, and there had been no reason for them to linger; the pub was too crowded, too loud, too public, and what Lucien and Jean both needed now was a moment together, a moment of peace, a moment to catch their breath, a moment in which they could decide how best to move forward.

Lucien would have to return to the castle; there was work to be done, and he did not like to leave Li and Lin alone for long. That place was his life, his home, and it was where he belonged. It was where Jean belonged, as well, but she had her own business to tend to; the cottage would need to be dealt with, and she'd need to arrange the transportation of her things. There were so many details in front of them now, a flurry of protocol and courtesy, but Lucien did not want to think about any of it just yet. Just now, just for this moment, he wanted to think only of Jean.

"What are you thinking?" she asked him then, her grey eyes watchful and understanding as ever.

"I was thinking how much I've missed you, and how I can hardly believe any of this is real." It was the truth, and he felt a certain sense of relief, being able to talk to her plainly and without fear now.

Jean sighed, a soft, sad sort of sound, and reached for him, let her fingertips trail against his cheek.

"I didn't want to leave you," she told him. "I know I hurt you, but there seemed to be no other way-"

"There wasn't," he assured her, reaching out and catching hold of her hand, bringing her fingers to his lips, kissing them in an act of reverence, and absolution. She had not apologized, and he did not expect her to, for he knew that what she'd said was true, that on the day she walked away from him she had believed that she had no other choice. And much as he hated to admit it, Lucien knew that she was right; she always was.

"The way things stood, back then...Jean, I wanted you to stay, more than anything, but it would have been cruel. There was no way for us then, and if I had pressed the issue...well." It didn't bear thinking about, really, what might have happened if Lucien had bulled forward with their engagement. Without the blessing of Parliament they would have been hard pressed to find a way forward, and Jean would have been vilified in the papers. Her very life might have been ruined, and they still might not have found their way together. "You were so brave, my darling," he told her earnestly. "You were stronger than me, that day."

"It broke my heart to leave you," she said, and her voice was hardly more than a whisper. "I thought you'd never want to see me again, after that."

Funny, Lucien had thought the same thing, that in their parting the ties between them had been severed, that he would never be able to convince her to come home. But fate, or some other force beyond his understanding, had been on his side, and now, at last, he had everything he'd ever wanted. And so, too, he thought, did Jean, for he knew she would not have accepted him, would not have even let him step foot inside the pub, if she had not already thought her way through the question at hand, and decided with her whole heart that she was ready, and willing, and eager to be with him. she had kissed him, and in her kiss he had felt all the love she carried for him, and been content.

"It's behind us," he said. "We can look to the future, now."

"What will we do?" she asked, and though her expression was somewhat anxious her back was straight, her chin lifted as if in defiance of the doubts that must have come creeping in since he'd swept her away from the pub. How very Jean, he thought, that she should already be trying to formulate a plan, trying to organize her thoughts and prepare for what was to come, that she should face the questions of her heart with strength; she was, he thought, the most incredible woman he had ever known.

"I have to go home this afternoon," he said slowly, trying to work through the question himself. "And I imagine you'll have some loose ends to tie up here."

"Yes," she agreed. "I think I'll need a few days, at least."

"Not too long, though," Lucien warned her gently. "This time tomorrow the whole kingdom will know what happened here today. I'll have to release a statement, and once that's done the journos will come knocking down your door."

Jean made a soft sound of distress and Lucien laughed, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close. "It won't be so bad, my darling. It's inevitable, really. Everyone will want to know all about you. Back home we can manage it together. Alice and Rose will know what to do. I just don't want you to face it on your own here, where I can't help you."

"All right," she sighed. "What if I come home tomorrow? I want to speak to John and to Eadie in person, but once I've done that I can pack a bag, and we can sort the rest of it out from home."

Home. Lucien liked the sound of that, very much. Funny, that; he'd hated the castle in his younger years, had always felt claustrophobic and out of place there. Even now, as a grown man, when he'd returned to that place he'd felt it was more tomb than home. But Jean had made the castle a home, his home, had helped him see the beauty of it through new eyes, had made it a place he wanted to be, so long as she was with him. And now his daughter and granddaughter would call it home, as well, and the halls of that tomb would echo with life, and laughter, and love once more.

"That would be wonderful," he told her earnestly. "Li is very much looking forward to meeting you."

Jean pulled away from him then, just enough to be able to look into his eyes, to search his face as she asked her next question.

"What does she think about all this? She's only just come home, Lucien, and she's lost so much, I'm sure it's been quite the adjustment for her. And now with me coming back, I worry she'll feel...pushed aside."

"I had the same thought," Lucien told her truthfully. "But we'll make sure she isn't, won't we? I told her about what happened between us, and she understands. She knows how unhappy I've been without you, and she wants to meet you. You'll love her, Jean, I know you will."

"Of course I will," she told him, smiling. "She's your daughter." But her smile faded, then, a hint of worry creeping into her eyes, and Lucien liked that not one bit.

"Jean?" he asked her softly.

"Oh, Lucien," she sighed, and in that sigh he heard a world of sorrow. "I know it seems like everything is sorted, and maybe it is. With Sir Patrick's help, I'm sure we can handle most anything that happens. But I am worried about my boys."

And in that moment Lucien felt something very close to shame, for in truth he had almost forgotten about Jean's sons. There was the matter of Jack, and whatever trouble he'd gotten himself into - though both Patrick and Rose from the Press Office seemed certain they could distance their new queen from the bad behavior of her youngest son - but what worried him now, what he was sure worried Jean now, was something else altogether. Her sons, those children born of her own body, born of her love for another man, were two young men whose mother was about to remarry. And the man who would be their stepfather was not a farmer or a greengrocer, but the bloody king. Lucien knew nothing at all about them, what sort of men they were, and he could not even begin to predict how they might react to the news.

"Did you tell them anything about...me, my darling? Or will this all come as a surprise?"

"There was nothing to tell," she told him sadly. "We never made our engagement official, before, and after...well. I thought I'd never see you again."

"They're in for quite the surprise, aren't they?"

He tried to find some humor in the situation, but Jean did not seem to share in his optimism, for his comment did not bring a smile to her lips.

"Young Christopher won't cause any trouble. He's a good boy. A steady boy. He has a family and a career quite separate from me, and he'll come around. I think he'd like you, actually, if he ever gets the chance to meet you."

"Well, of course he will," Lucien protested at once; the boy would be his stepson, and Lucien could not imagine a world in which they were not well acquainted with one another. Jean, however, had not finished her thought, and carried on regardless.

"But Jack, he's...he's emotional, Lucien. He takes things hard. He won't be pleased."

"I'm not marrying him," Lucien told her firmly. "I'm marrying you. And I love you. And perhaps, in time, Jack will see that, and understand it. But that's a problem for another day, isn't it?"

"Yes," Jean agreed, and Lucien tightened his hold upon her, pulled her closer."I suppose it is. Today, I'm happy. I didn't think I'd ever be this happy again."

"Nor did I." No, Lucien had thought such joy beyond his reach, but Jean was here, in his arms, and he could not find room in his heart for doubt. And so as she looked at him he bowed his head, and kissed her soundly. Jean responded instantly, deeply, wound her arms around his neck and held him tight, and for the moment they were safe, and happy, and well, sheltered in one another's arms. Her little cottage was full of castle guards, and more paced the pavement outside, waiting for their king to take his leave, to whisk him back to the castle. No doubt news of their shocking engagement was already seeping like flood waters through the town, telephone lines vibrating with the chatter of excited voices; no doubt come tomorrow this little village would be flooded with people, come to catch a glimpse of the woman who would become their queen. Tomorrow there would be statements to make, questions to answer, a whole host of complications to untangle, but right now, in this moment, Lucien was happy, and Jean was kissing him, and he could not ask for more.