1 June 1959

"Might I have a word in private, Your Majesty?"

Matthew's expression was grim - well, grimmer than usual - and brooked no argument.

"Of course," Lucien answered at once, and together they trooped into the castle, making their way to the king's private study on the first floor. There was an office in Lucien's suite where he often sat in the mornings, reading over the newspapers and sipping coffee, but the first floor study was more formal, and more appropriate for a meeting such as this, and would spare Matthew's leg the journey up the stairs besides.

As they walked along some of Lucien's good cheer faded. It was a bright, cheerful afternoon, and he had spent most of the day overseeing the State Opening of Parliament. It was an elaborate, complex ritual that involved not just the King's Speech to the assembled Lords and Commons, but a whole host of strange traditions born out of the long and storied history of his kingdom. Though Lucien did not much enjoy wearing the heavy Imperial crown or giving a speech about the state of the kingdom and his expectations for the coming Parliamentary session there had been something of a festive atmosphere throughout the day. He had ridden through the streets in a horse-drawn coach, and seen many of his people gathered along the pavement, watching and waving to him, and he had carried off the speech - written almost entirely by young Miss Anderson, though a few older men in the Press Office had tried to take credit for her words - without a hitch. The day had been, to his mind, a great success, one of the first real tests of his Kingship which had not resulted in calamity.

Yes, his heart had been light, but no sooner had that coach entered the castle grounds than Matthew had called him away, clearly troubled, and anything that troubled the commander of the palace guard must of necessity concern the king.

What could it be? He wondered to himself as he walked along. The security services had made noises about the king's safety the way they did every time he appeared in public, but the day was too well organized, and there were far too many soldiers and police about for anyone to get close enough to do him any harm. If there had been any attempt on his life it had been feeble indeed, and he had not taken note of it. But if it were not his personal safety that concerned Matthew, what else could it be? There had been no real trouble in the kingdom since Lucien's arrival; there had been grumblings of a miner's strike but it had never come to be, and the average citizens seemed to be content, for the most part.

"What is it, Matthew?" Lucien asked him anxiously as they settled into their respective chairs behind the closed door of the study, Lucien on one side of the desk and Matthew on the other. There was no point, he thought, in beating around the bush; he and Matthew were both forthright men, and old friends. They had no need for couching their words in the more flowery language preferred by the politicians.

"I thought I told you to be careful," Matthew grumbled, stretching his bad leg out in front of him and resting his right hand on his cane, staring at Lucien balefully.

"I really haven't the faintest idea-"

"Jean," Matthew said simply, cutting across Lucien's protests at once.

"Ah," Lucien answered, somewhat lamely. If you hurt her, king or not I'll break your bloody kneecaps. Yes, Matthew had warned him on the subject of Jean some months before, but Lucien couldn't see what that had to do with anything; they had been nothing but careful, had contained their dalliances to moments when no one else was around to see them, and he had not made his way back to her bed, no matter how badly he might wish to. It seemed several weeks too late for Matthew to admonish him for his recklessness upon his return from China, but Lucien could think of no other time when he and Jean had been lax enough to arouse suspicion, and as far as he was aware she was happy as could be, and entirely unhurt.

"I told you not to hurt her, but you just can't help yourself, can you?"

"Matthew, really, I can assure my conduct towards Jean-"

"Has been entirely inappropriate, and you have not been as careful as you think."

Dread fell upon Lucien in that moment, heavy and thick. For the last few weeks he had been caught up in a sort of euphoria, delighted to know that his daughter was safe, overjoyed to know that Jean loved him as he loved her, his thoughts focused entirely on a future that seemed infinitely brighter, infinitely happier than it had done when he first came to this place. No shadow had been cast over those heady days of late spring, and his heart had been at peace. But now here Matthew sat before him, words of gloom upon his lips, and Lucien could not thank his old friend for it.

"You were seen," Matthew said simply. "Someone saw her letting you into her room the night you came back, and they saw you just a few days ago, kissing her on the roof."

"Bloody hell," Lucien sighed, scrubbing a weary hand over his face.

"It was a guard, and as soon as I find out which one, I've a mind to hang him from the gate."

"Hang on," Lucien said quickly, seizing upon the one piece of hope available to him, "if you don't know who it was, how could you-"

"It's all anyone's bloody talking about," Matthew said with a shrug. "Gossip takes a long time to reach the commander's ears, but I heard it today. The guards were talking about it, and if they know, then the maids surely know, and if the maids know, well, then everybody knows. No secret stays inside the castle for long, you must know that. Someone was feeding information about your movements in China to your cousins, and once your...situation with Jean becomes common knowledge in the castle, you can be sure they'll hear about it as well."

"Bloody hell," Lucien said again. No other words would come to him as he sat, aghast and fretful. This was exactly what Jean had been afraid of, that they might become the subject of gossip before they'd settled things between them, that people might cast aspersions on the character of their king, and whisper vile things about the woman who had seduced him. It wasn't true, of course; Lucien had pursued Jean because he adored her most completely, and she had only given in to his advances after much careful thought and conversation between them. To his mind their story was really rather lovely, two people widowed by war finding happiness with one another at last, but he knew the gossipers would not see it that way. And if word reached the politicians before Lucien had a chance to explain himself...well, it didn't bear thinking about.

"I'll have to speak to Jean," he spoke the words as the realization dawned on him. They must act, and quickly, must come up with some sort of plan. It was not the king who made decisions regarding the employment of the castle servants, and if someone decided it was for the best that the meddlesome housekeeper be removed from the picture there was little he could do to stop it, not without providing further fodder for the gossips. Their position was tenuous indeed, and time was against them.

"Yes," Matthew said heavily. "You will. And soon, I wager. I don't pretend to know what's going on between the two of you and frankly I don't care, but you're playing with her livelihood and her reputation. What do you think will happen to her, when this news gets out? They'll call her the king's whore, and there will be no one in the kingdom who will employ her if she gets turned out of the castle."

Lucien gawped at him, devastated by the very idea. "Surely you don't think-"

"You're the king, sir. You have power, but it's limited. If you want to marry her - and you better, or so help me - Parliament will want to have its say. And if they turn against you, there's nothing you can do to stop them. They can't legislate your marriage but they can take you to task in the court of public opinion. They will ruin her, before you ever make it to the altar."

"What can I do?" Lucien asked him desperately. He felt himself hemmed into a corner, and though he was prepared to fight his way out he did not have the first idea of where to begin.

"First, you speak to Jean. Find out what she wants. If she doesn't want to marry you, you'll need to arrange a position for her somewhere else, and quickly. Maybe the lake house, she likes it there."

"She loves the flowers," Lucien mused sadly. The very idea of it terrified him, but he could see the wisdom in Matthew's words; it was Lucien who had put her in this position, who now threatened her future, and if she did not wish to marry him the least he could do was see that she was taken care of. And she did love the sprawling manor set in the midst of those beautiful gardens, that glasshouse where they'd danced beneath the stars; perhaps she could find some happiness there, if not with him.

"If she does want to marry you, you'll need to move quickly. The Prime Minister may be your friend, if you can convince him you haven't totally taken leave of your senses. But even if she agrees to an engagement she may need to be moved. It's not uncommon for a royal fiancé to stay in the castle before a wedding, but this is a special case."

It was rather a lot of information for Lucien to take in all at once, and his head was spinning. What he needed, more than anything, was to speak to Jean, but knowing that there were eyes and ears throughout the castle taking note of his every move he was hesitant to seek her out right away. If the guards who had seen them talking on the battlements could not be trusted then he could not go to her there, and the kitchen was likewise too exposed. He would have to make alternate arrangements; the thought of setting up an assignation as if they were a pair of spies in their own home galled him, but he knew he had little choice.

"Thank you, Matthew," he said heavily.

"Just talk to her, Your Majesty," his old friend answered, rising slowly from his chair. "Soon."

It was a beautiful evening, and Jean had every intention of making her way to the rooftop once the sun sank below the horizon. Her heart was light; she had spent the morning, along with many of the staff, crowded around the television in Matthew's office watching the King's Speech. He had comported himself with dignity, and on that little screen he had seemed ten feet tall and unassailable, the very image of kingly grandeur, and she had been so proud of him she could not keep the smile from her face. As he spoke passionately of his concern for his people's welfare, his dedication to the continued success of the National Health and the kingdom's schools, she had thought only how she loved his tender heart, his compassion for the people under his charge. Though the early days of his reign had seen their share of stumbles he was finding his way, now, and wielding his power with the authority that befit his station, and she couldn't have been more pleased.

Before she went up to the rooftop, however, before she stood beside the old stone parapet and waited with bated breath for him to join her, she had decided to fetch herself a cup of tea. It would be another half hour or so before the sun set completely, and she would not venture up the stairs until it was dark. Humming softly to herself, then, she floated through the beautiful corridors of her home, intent on reaching the kitchen.

To her relief it was empty; Jean could not hide her bright smile, and she did not fancy answering questions on what had put it there. Satisfied that she was truly alone she put the kettle on, but she had no sooner fetched down a cup than she heard the sound of a light footfall behind her, and turned to see Mattie making her way across the kitchen.

"Jean!" the girl said, delighted. "I was hoping I'd find you here."

"Oh?" Jean asked, taking down a second cup without being asked. If someone had to interrupt her she was glad it was Mattie; she took great comfort from the girl's company, and having someone to share her tea with would make the time go faster.

"I've been looking all over for you." Mattie settled onto one of the tall stools at the end of the counter, propped her elbows up in front of her and looked at Jean with wide, eager eyes. "Is it true, then?" she asked breathlessly.

"Is what true?" Jean answered. From the moment they met Jean had been terribly fond of Mattie, as fond as if the girl were her own flesh and blood, and she was amused to see the almost childlike excitement on Mattie's face.

"About you and the king!" Mattie exclaimed, and the teacup went tumbling from Jean's hand, rolling across the countertop as all her happiness fled, and horror took its place. "I've only just heard and I think it's the most marvelous thing," Mattie carried on, apparently oblivious to Jean's distress. "Oh, Jean, you could be Queen! Oh it's so romantic, I-"

"Mattie," Jean said sharply, and at her words Mattie's lips clamped shut, her brow furrowing in worry. "I really don't have the first idea what you're talking about."

"Oh," Mattie said, though she did not sound as if she entirely believed what she'd been told. "I didn't mean-"

"Are people really saying such things?" Jean demanded. Behind her the kettle boiled, forgotten. Oh, no, she thought dismally, please, don't let it be true, don't let them be whispering already, I couldn't bear it.

"I just heard some of the maids talking. They said someone saw you-"

"That's nonsense," Jean said at once. Lying was a sin, and one she would repent for later, but in the moment she felt she had no other choice. "And I'd thank you not to repeat it. Rumors like that have a way of turning very nasty, and there's absolutely nothing going on between the King and I."

Or there won't be now, not until I've had a chance to speak to him. Oh, we were so careful! How could this have happened?

The questions swirled round and round her mind, and Mattie just stared at her with the air of a puppy denied a treat. For a moment Jean regretted the harsh way she'd spoken; it wasn't Mattie's fault that other people were whispering, and Mattie had come to her excited at the prospect, not judging her or condemning her for her actions. Still, though, such rumors could not be allowed to spread.

"Have some tea, Mattie," Jean sighed, fetching the discarded cup and handing it over to her young friend. "I'm going to bed."

And so she did, turned and marched smartly from the kitchen and straight up to her room, her heart full of doubts.