14 May 1959

"Not a bloody word," Lucien grumbled as together he and Matthew turned and made their way back towards the stairs. The morning had started so beautifully, so wonderfully, full of tenderness and potential the likes of which Lucien had never even dreamed of experiencing, and though he understood that Matthew had likely done him a kindness by removing him from Jean's room before they were caught by someone less understanding he could not thank him for it. There was so much left to say, but Jean had closed the door smartly and in the soft snick of the lock Lucien fancied he could hear a far off rumble of thunder, a portent of troubles to come. Matthew had arrived before Lucien had the chance to explain himself to Jean fully, and for now his arguments would go unheard. The lost time galled him; Jean had clearly been distressed by the interruption and she had shut the door so quickly, as if she could not be rid of him fast enough. No doubt her regrets and her doubts would fester throughout the day, and Lucien would be unable to soothe her until much later - if she had not gone off him completely by then.

"I didn't say anything," Matthew answered, his voice as gruff as Lucien's had been.

"You didn't need to." No, Matthew's expression had spoken volumes. The moment the door closed he'd turned to Lucien frowning as if to say now what have you gone and done this time? After all, it had not been so very long since Matthew had told him plainly if you hurt her, king or not I'll break your bloody kneecaps. And yet Lucien had not heeded his old friend's advice, and now everything seemed to be in tatters.

I can salvage this, he tried to tell himself as they walked along. I can.

After all, he was under orders - in a manner of speaking - to marry, and Jean was a fine woman, a woman who must have felt something for him, or else she would not have been so conflicted. He had to marry, he loved her, she seemed to care for him; why then should they not wed? The excuses Jean had offered him were thin and feeble, and he rather thought that if he applied himself to the task he could easily set all her fears to rest. It was Jean he wanted, he knew that now, and he would gladly do battle with her excuses and Sir Patrick and anyone else had to, just to have her.

For he knew, now, what they were together, knew how happy he could make her, how utterly she could delight him. The few moments they had spent together blissful and at peace in the predawn darkness had shown him that. And such happiness was worth fighting for.

Even if Matthew did not approve. Likely he thought, as Jean did, that a relationship between the king and his housekeeper could never be. Likely having heard the stories of Lucien's misspent youth he mistrusted his king's intentions as regarded this lady whom Matthew held in such high esteem. Likely everyone in the castle would feel much the same, if and when the truth came out. But people do love their stories, Lucien thought, and perhaps in time they would come to love this one, too, would eventually come to see the beauty in it and be glad to know that Jean and Lucien had found such happiness together.

We just have to go about it the right way, he thought. He did not yet know what the right way might be, but he was determined to sort it out.

Sir Patrick had arranged a meeting at 7:00 that morning, and Lucien could have kicked him for it. They could have talked as easily at noon, or even the following day, but Sir Patrick had wanted to see him first thing, and it was his eagerness that had torn Lucien from Jean's bed, sent him upstairs for a bath and a shave and a bit of breakfast before Peter helped him to dress and sent him marching back down the stairs again.

And despite Lucien's haste Sir Patrick arrived in the counsel room before he did. He rose to his feet and bobbed his head in a show of reverence, waiting until his king had been seated and gestured for him to do the same before resuming his seat.

"How was your trip, Your Majesty?" Patrick asked him once they were settled.

"It was wonderful," Lucien said truthfully. "Li is happy and well."

"But staying in China?"

It was obvious what Sir Patrick was doing, what he wanted to know. The Prime Minister was not concerned with the well-being of Lucien's family for altruistic reasons; he wanted a robust royal family and an ironclad succession, and while he would couch his inquiries in the language of polite conversation the intent remained the same. Do we have an heir? And if we don't, what the bloody hell are you going to do about it? Patrick had not said it in so many words but Lucien rather had the feeling that the Prime Minister had only come around to supporting the king's trip to China because he believed it would be the most expedient way to bring the heir to the throne back home. If he believed that, he had been sorely mistaken.

"Yes," Lucien said. "She's married, and expecting a child. She's never set foot in this country, and she can't uproot her family now."

"Surely you're her family as well, Your Majesty."

"She hadn't seen me since 1941, Patrick. Her life is in China."

"She told you she intends to abdicate her birthright, then?" Patrick asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his belly. He was frowning; everyone seemed to be frowning at Lucien this morning.

But his question was an interesting one, for as Lucien considered it he realized that he did not actually know the answer.

"Not in so many words," he said carefully. "She told me she has no plans to come here. But she's also nearly five months pregnant, and no doubt the thought of moving to a new place and having a new child at the same time is daunting. It's possible in time she might change her mind. We didn't actually discuss her long term plans." We never actually discussed the fact that she's a princess, he thought. Their discussions had centered on themselves, everything that had transpired in the time they'd been apart. Lucien had been curious as to what sort of education Li had received, what sort of work her husband did, what life was like for her in that distant corner of the world. The line of succession had not been particularly high on his list of concerns. But of course she was a princess, his darling Li, and her child would be next in the line after her. Though there were no guarantees Lucien knew he could very well live another twenty, twenty-five years - thirty seemed to be pushing it, he thought, given his proclivity for strong drink - and by that time her child would be grown. Maybe it wouldn't matter, in the end, if Li wanted to assume the role she'd been born into. Maybe his grandchild would be happy to take up the crown.

Now that was an interesting thought.

Patrick sighed. "So far we've managed to keep the fact of her existence a secret, Your Majesty, but people will want to know where you went and why you were gone for so long. We believe that someone in the castle is passing information along to your cousins. If they learn about her, who she is, they might decide to target her."

"Then we'll have to send her protection," Lucien said at once. The thought had not occurred to him before, but now it left him terrified. He could not bear it, he thought, if after all this time his own recklessness had placed Li in danger, if her quiet, happy life were to be shattered on account of her connection to him. It was the most horrible thing he could imagine.

"If we send a contingent of soldiers to Shanghai that threat will go from possible to imminent. It would paint a target on her back."

"We can't leave her out there alone," Lucien fired back, incensed at the very idea. If she were in danger then she ought to be protected, but here Patrick sat, making threats and doing nothing to assuage Lucien's fears.

"I'll speak to Bill. Perhaps a few highly trained intelligence officers could bleed into the local community, and look after her without raising suspicions. But you must understand, Your Majesty, the safest place for her is here, in the castle, where we can look after her. You might think about telling her that."

"I will not use threats and intimidation to bring my daughter home just to make you happy," Lucien told him fiercely. Li deserved better than that, he thought. She deserves better than me.

"Very well, Your Majesty. Given the situation, however, I'm afraid it's time for you to start thinking about our arrangement. If the princess does not wish to come home, then you are still without an heir, at least until such time as her child comes of age. We cannot count on your grandchild assuming the throne; China is a dangerous place just now, and the child may not want the crown any more than your daughter does. The safest thing for Li and for the future of this kingdom would be for you to marry and produce a second heir as soon as possible. Then Li could remain in China unmolested, and the line of succession would remain intact."

Arrogant bastard, Lucien thought. He knew he wasn't being entirely fair on Sir Patrick; the man did have the best interest of the realm at heart, and Lucien had given his word. He had devoted rather a lot of time recently to thoughts of matrimony, but somehow he did not think that Sir Patrick would be entirely happy with his choice, and he could not even make such a suggestion until he'd had another chance to speak to Jean. After all, he had no intention of strong-arming Jean - or any woman - into a marriage she did not want.

"I've only just come back," he said. "Give me a month, and we'll revisit this conversation again then."

"Your Majesty-"

"One month, Patrick, that's all I ask. I promise you, one way or another, I will keep my end of the bargain. I just need a little more time."

It seemed the phrase one way or another had piqued Sir Patrick's interest; the man eyed him thoughtfully, the faintest hint of a smug smile playing around the corner of his mouth. Perhaps Sir Patrick thought that his attempts at matchmaking had been successful, and the King was sweet on Lady Ann.

If he believes that, he's a fool, Lucien thought grimly.

"Very well, Your Majesty," Patrick said. "We'll discuss the matter again in a month."

"Is everything all right, Jean?" Mattie asked.

The sound of the girl's voice startled her and Jean gave a little jump at the question, nearly dropping her teacup in the process.

She had been sitting in an out-of-the-way corner of the kitchen, sipping her tea and nibbling dispiritedly at a plate of eggs and bacon while the kitchen bustled around her. The place was a hive of activity in the mornings, and today was no different, but Jean had no interest in speaking to anyone, and until now everyone had given her a wide berth. Not Mattie, though; they were friends after a fashion, and no doubt the young nurse had seen Jean's distress written all over her face.

"Oh, I'm fine, Mattie. I think I may be coming down with a cold."

It was a bold-faced lie, and Jean would repent for it later, but in the moment there was nothing else she could say. Physically Jean felt rather wonderful, strong and full of life; if her heart had been lighter she was sure she would have been positively glowing. But deep within her heart, she felt as if she were breaking in half.

She had not wept for very long after Lucien left her that morning; after all, there was work to be getting on with. She'd slipped into her usual navy dress, though she had stared for a moment in despair at the heavy mark Lucien's lips had left on the side of her neck. Makeup had not been sufficient to cover it, but the tears had left her sniffling and her eyes were a bit puffy, so she'd wrapped herself in her white shawl and resolved to tell anyone who asked that she was feeling a bit under the weather.

But she should have known that she would not fool Mattie; the girl was a nurse, after all.

"You don't look sick," Mattie said quietly. "You look sad."

Jean had no response for that at all; she was sad. Everything was muddled, her relief at Lucien's return, the joy that had filled her when he touched her, the devastation that had begun to creep in as she realized that no matter how badly she wanted him the king could never truly be hers.

Be my wife, then, he'd said, as if it were that simple, as if such a thing could ever be. There was nothing in the world Jean wanted more than to be his wife, but in order to be his wife she would have to be his queen, too, and that thought did not sit easily with her. Kings did not marry widowed housekeepers; a farmgirl who'd gotten married with a baby already in her belly could not ever be a queen. Life was not a fairytale, and Jean knew that better than most. Better than Lucien, certainly.

I will have to leave, she thought sadly. There was no other way; she wanted Lucien too much, and she had proven herself unable to resist him. Now that he'd gotten this idea in his head she knew he would not easily forget it, and having to push him aside, having to live in the same place with him, having to clean his rooms, knowing how wonderful it was to be held by him and yet never experiencing that joy again; it would be unbearable. It would be the worst sort of torture. The only way to spare them both the heartbreak would be to remove herself from his sight.

But where then could she go? The castle had been her home for fifteen years. Her boys were grown, and did not need her underfoot. She had a little money saved up but she was too young yet to stop working altogether, and the thought of leaving the comfort and security of her home to start over somewhere else was galling.

It could be nice, though, she tried to tell herself. I could go to a little village, and work at a florist's or a cafe. I could rent a little cottage, and grow flowers in my own garden again.

"Jean?" Mattie was looking at her with grave concern.

"I'll be all right, Mattie," she said, reaching out to pat the girl's hand gently. "I always am."