III:

"Desiree will come as soon as she knows you're here," Genevieve promised, touching Lucien's arm lightly and beaming at him like her world was complete now that he had returned safely to her. And Jean supposed it had, really. No one had asked about his wife or daughter, maybe out of fear, but there was a heavy sense of grief choking the air.

"Boys, stop," Jean muttered, glaring at Jack and Christopher across the table.

"But, mum – I want to ask Major Blake about Singapore," Jack all but whined, sounding more like a child than a teenager.

"He's only just gotten back, and, besides, Singapore isn't a very nice place right now," Jean said primly.

"But, mum –"

"Jack –"

"Jack, why don't you think about the questions you want to ask me about Singapore, and I'll answer them all tomorrow?" Lucien said with a smile. "That way, you won't forget any of them. And I have a chance to get a good night's rest ahead of time. Would that be all right?"

"Yes, sir, Major Blake," Jack said.

"He doesn't mean anything by it," Thomas said. "He's just very curious." The implied 'we all are' was left hanging in the air.

Christopher picked at his food and said, "May I be excused?"

"Your maman made tart tatin," Genevieve said. "Don't you want some?"

"Not really," Christopher muttered. "I need to study."

"You're excused, young man," Thomas said, "but no coming back down for pudding later."

"I want some," Jack said even as Christopher left.

"Yes, we know you do," Genevieve said with a chuckle.

Jean looked over at Lucien and saw that he was fighting to remain calm. She reached over under the table's edge and touched his knee, smiling sadly when his gaze jerked to meet hers. His hand covered hers under the table, fingers curling around hers, and she blushed for a moment before pulling away.

He hadn't asked about her place in the household, about why she and the boys were there; no, he was smarter than that. He had picked up on all of the subtle clues and worked out the truth without her even having to tell him that Christopher was gone. And she had likewise had known the staggering truth of his loss without a single word of it having been spoken between them. It rolled off him like a wave.

And, god help her, Jean still loved him desperately. She always had done. It had started innocently enough, when she had fallen from the roof of the carriage house. She didn't dare ever breathe a word of it to anyone, but when she had hit the ground, she had felt her soul leave her body. There was nothing – a black void of nothing, then a light, and her mum's voice calling to her from heaven – but then there was Lucien touching her, and she could see him, hear him, feel him… She had done her best to hide her feelings because they scared her; and then he was courting Monica, and Christopher had started to court her, and…

When Lucien had proposed marriage, however flippantly, she should have run straight into his arms. Instead, she had found herself holding back and listening to the whispers in her head that said he would never be happy with her. He could only be happy with someone like him: someone with money, charm, dignity. Someone who wasn't used to cleaning the grates and dusting the nooks and crannies.

She was just the hired help. It was all she would ever be.

Jean got up and served the tart, making sure Lucien got the largest slice, and she got the smallest. "Jean, you should take more," Lucien said.

"I don't need more," she murmured.

"I'll take it," Jack said. "It's delicious, mum."

Genevieve laughed. "He is correct, chérie."

"Jeanie, I insist," Lucien said, cutting a small bit and putting it onto her plate. She stared at him for a long moment; Lucien Blake giving up any of his sweets was practically a confession of eternal devotion. "I couldn't possibly eat another bite – I am full to bursting and beyond."

"And yet, you are so thin, mon cher," Genevieve scolded.

"So is Jeanie," Lucien pointed out.

"Jean is –"

"Jean is sitting right here," Jean said very quietly. "Jack, I think it's time you went upstairs and finished your studying."

"But, mum –"

"Jack, now," Jean said firmly. Her son finally did as he was told, and put down his silverware and left the room, thundering upstairs. Once he was gone, she exhaled roughly and said, "I went without so my boys would have food, Lucien. I wasn't very well when I came to work for your parents, and, to be honest, it wasn't so long ago."

"She has made good progress," Thomas said.

Lucien scowled at him. "Oh, that's wonderful – you can catalogue both our progresses on your chart, then, dad," he said in a tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Suffisant!" Genevieve interjected, slamming her hand down on the table hard enough to make wine slosh onto the tablecloth. "Enough. Enough. Please." She looked across at Jean and said, "Will you please bring a pot of tea into the studio for Thomas and me? Lucien, Jean has taken your things upstairs to the yellow bedroom. Your papa and I will stay out of your way the rest of the evening so you can settle in. Won't we, Thomas?"

Thomas grunted something to the affirmative, and got up and left the room. Genevieve left as well, and Jean sighed softly. "I'll make that tea and clean up," she murmured.

"I'll help," Lucien volunteered.

"No, it's my job," she said. "You shouldn't have to."

"I want to – it will make me feel useful," he said.

"You can dry," Jean said, taking pity on him.

Once the tea was in the studio and they were alone in the kitchen, just a sink full of sudsy water and the dishes between them, everything seemed much simpler. Lucien relaxed and dried the dishes as she washed them and she quietly went about doing the dishes as she would any other night. Only, usually, the boys were helping her to dry and put the dishes away.

"Where did Christopher serve?" Lucien asked gently.

"The Solomons," Jean said very quietly. "Your wife –"

"Hong Kong."

"Oh." The word was heavy in her mouth, raw, and made her feel sick. "Lucien, I am so –"

"Don't say it, please, Jeanie, I couldn't bear it."

She fell silent, adding more hot water to the sink. Her heart was breaking for him; it seemed so inconceivable that so much suffering could befall such a gentle, sweet man, and yet… he stood beside her quietly, dabbing at the roasting pan with his sack cloth like it was the most normal thing on earth. "Lucien, what will you do now?" she asked softly.

"I don't know," he said, the honesty stark and painful. "The Army didn't want to let me go, but I cannot serve any longer; and I will not sully your hands with the sordid details."

"No, of course not," Jean said gently, smiling sadly. "Medical?"

He laughed then, bitterly. "Fishing, Jeanie?"

She shrugged. "If I can help…"

"I cannot march for long distances," he admitted very quietly. "Not anymore. There were things that… happened. And I –"

"Lucien, it's all right," she said very softly. "No one here is going to hurt you like that again. No one."

He exhaled lowly, and stared at her, making her feel very exposed. "Jean, I –"

She smiled sadly. "I fell in the cow pen after I sold the cows," she said very quietly. "It had rained for days after the drought and the ground soaked everything up, and then there was just nowhere for it to go, so it flooded. The water and mud was up to my knees, and I fell off the fence while I was fixing the tension wire and I almost drowned. I was just there and all I could think about was falling off that bloody roof when I was a little girl, and how I was going to leave my boys all alone in the world and somehow I got enough leverage to get hold of the bottom of the fence and drag myself up. Your father said I never should've been able to, but if I let things stop me…" She swallowed hard and met his stare without flinching. "Lucien, we have to keep going."

"You've always been stronger than me," he said very quietly.

"No," she whispered. "You just have to want it, Lucien. Find something to hold onto and just… one foot in front of the other." She swallowed hard and looked away. "If you want to leave those on the sideboard there, I'll put everything away. Good night, Lucien."

He hesitated for a moment, then said, "Good night, Jean."

"Thank you for your help – though you needn't trouble yourself in the future," she said. "Christopher and Jack usually help me."

He took a deep breath and set aside the towel and dish. "Jean, I –" Lucien didn't finish his thought. Instead, he said, "Good night."

She wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him, to show him that he wasn't the only one who was struggling… That he was loved and she had always loved him, so much that it had torn her apart and broken her down to the very foundations of who she was. And yet, all she did was say a quiet, "Good night."

TBC...