6 October 1959
"How about a nice stroll around the garden?" Lucien asked as Li rose slowly to her feet. They were standing together in Li's suite of rooms, and Lucien held his granddaughter in his arms, wearing a smile he could not seem to shake. It was just over a week since her birth, and mother and baby were both recovering nicely from their ordeal. The weather was warm for early autumn, and Lucien rather thought they might all of them enjoy a few minutes spent in the sunshine; oh, Li tired easily, these days, and he did not intend to push her, but someone had told him once that fresh air was good for the soul, and he believed it.
"You have a garden, papa?" Li asked him as she shrugged into her coat. For a moment he was thrown by the question, but he recovered quickly; of course Li knew nothing of the castle grounds. She'd arrived in the dead of night and been whisked straight to these rooms, and her exhaustion coupled with her delicate condition and the sudden arrival of her daughter had combined to keep her confined for much of the time she'd been with him.
"I do," he told her brightly. "The castle grounds are actually quite large. We won't be able to see all of it today, but perhaps when you've got a bit more strength I could give you a proper tour." He wanted her to see it, all of it, the beauty of this place that was hers by rights; he wanted to provide for her every joy, her every comfort, wanted to see her smiling every day for the rest of his life. No decision had been made as yet, regarding Li's future and whether she would stay with him, and Lucien had decided not to demand an accounting from her. Every moment she spent with him was a gift, and he would treasure them all.
"I would like that very much," she answered.
Lucien beamed at her, and turned to the side, offering her his arm so that she might take it, and they might walk out from that place together. Li was smiling softly as her hand clasped his elbow, and he was glad of it, for he knew that she had suffered a great deal in recent days; he was grateful to see that she had not forgotten what it was, to feel happiness.
"And I have a little surprise for you," he said as they stepped through the door together. His surprise was waiting for them in the corridor, and Li's eyes locked on it at once, a delighted little gasp escaping her at that discovery.
"Papa!" she cried, "Did you buy this for us? When did you have the time?"
Lucien grinned at her as he laid his granddaughter gently inside the glimmering new pram he'd procured for her, tucking the blankets up under her chin and assuring himself that she was comfortable before turning back to Li.
"I confess I had to ask Matthew for help, but he was happy to do it. Do you like it?"
"It's wonderful, papa," Li said, and then, apparently quite impulsively, she lifted herself up onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Thank you," she told him earnestly.
Lucien's heart was so very full that for an instant he hardly knew what to say. For so many years he'd dreamed of finding Li again, seeing her, talking to her, being her father as he so dearly wanted to be, and now that she had returned to him all the darkness that had haunted him for nearly two decades seemed to have passed into memory, replaced by this blazing sunlight of joy. If there was a part of his heart that was lonesome, a part of him that wished, more than anything else, that he might share his joy with someone who understood him, who loved him, who knew all that he had suffered and would likewise know how important this change in circumstances was to him, he tried to push those feelings aside, for he knew that he was a lucky man, and he could hardly dare ask for more than had been given to him already.
"Only the best, for my girls," he said when he'd found his voice again. "Let's see how she does, eh?"
Li grasped the handle of the pram and together they began to walk slowly towards the front door; they were in no particular hurry, and they were content simply to be with one another. The baby did not fuss, but then as Lucien recalled Li had always been quite happy in her own little pram; perhaps it was the movement that soothed them, he thought, first Li and now Lin. For that was the name Li had chosen for her child; Lin, meaning - if Lucien recalled his lessons correctly - fine jade, or gem. And she was a gem, a treasure, precious to her mother and grandfather both; a daughter would be a blessing, Lucien had told Li, and it seemed that she quite agreed with him. Little Lin had not been christened yet, and that state of affairs was sending the Earl Marshall into fits, but Lucien saw no need to press the issue. He did not hold with religion himself, and Li certainly saw no need to keep with Catholic teachings. Perhaps it would become a problem further down the line, perhaps there was some finer point of legal doctrine pertaining to the royal family of which he was not aware, but for now it made no matter to him; Lin was healthy, eating well and not crying any more than one would expect from a newborn, and that was enough to satisfy her grandfather.
As they emerged into the grand foyer a strange sight was waiting for them; Joy was standing by the door, a small travelling case on the floor at her feet, her eyes on the silver watch she wore on her wrist.
"Will you excuse me one moment, Li?" Lucien asked; his daughter nodded, her eyes landing with some curiosity on Joy, and so Lucien left her there, and made his way towards his almost-fiance.
"Joy?" he said as he reached her. "Is everything all right?"
"Of course, Your Majesty," she answered, offering him a brief curtsy. "I had hoped not to interrupt you, but it seems I've failed."
"Joy, what on earth-"
"I'm leaving, Your Majesty," she cut him off, but there was no anger in her; if anything, he rather felt as if she were trying to spare him the embarrassment of further inquiry. "I think it's for the best. For all of us."
The matter-of-fact tone in which she spoke those words threw him, and for a moment Lucien was left simply staring at her, trying to wrap his mind around her declaration. She was leaving, and taking all of Sir Patrick's hopes for a royal wedding and another royal heir with her. Given that before this moment Lucien had intended to marry her he supposed he ought to feel some sort of distress at the thought of her departure, but his primary response in the moment was one of relief. In reaching this decision on her own Joy had spared him the agony of choosing for himself, and spared him also any sort of unpleasant scenes. Perhaps she had placed an undo burden on Li, but then she had told him once you'll have to find yourself another girl, and if it came right down to it, Lucien supposed he would. He would never dream of marrying a woman who was unwilling, and it seemed to him that Joy had made up her mind not to accept him.
"I've sent for a car," she told him. "It should be here any minute, and then I'll be on my way. I'll arrange for the rest of my things to be sent to my father's house."
"Joy, I…" Lucien did not know what he intended to say, only that he felt he ought to say something, but Joy saved him from himself.
"I know I said I'd give you a month, but I can see there's no need. That girl adores you, Your Majesty," she said with a meaningful glance towards Li, "and it's clear how much you love her. She won't leave you now. She's already made up her mind, she just doesn't know it yet. And if you have your daughter, and your granddaughter, then you don't need me, do you?"
No, I suppose I don't, he thought, but he wisely kept those words to himself.
"There's no great love between us. And if you don't need me, and you don't love me, why should I stay? I will admit, it would have been nice to be queen," she added somewhat wryly, "but it isn't worth the price I'd have to pay."
At that very moment the door swung open, one of the young guards standing on the other side.
"Excuse me, Your Majesty," he said, offering Lucien a sharp salute. "Lady Ann's car has arrived."
"This is good-bye, then," Joy said. "Let's not draw it out, shall we?"
Lucien reached for her hand, then, for while he understood what she had told him, why she had made this choice - and agreed with her wholeheartedly - still a part of him felt somewhat responsible, as if he had wounded her in some way.
"Travel safe, Joy," he told her. "Look after yourself. I'm sorry."
"Don't be," she answered, and though he did not love her, though he knew he never could, in that moment he could not help but admire her for her dignity, her poise, for her pride, for the strength that had brought her this far. She was lovely, and perhaps, in another life, they might have been content with one another, but Lucien's heart belonged to someone else, and he was beginning to suspect it always would. "Be happy, Your Majesty," she told him, and then she picked up her bag, and turned away from him, and Lucien watched her go in silence, his thoughts a confusing tangle he could not fathom.
"Oi! Jeannie!" John called gaily from the kitchen doorway, "your fella's come back!"
At the sound of his voice Jean spun around to face him, and for a moment she frowned, wiping her hands on her apron and trying to work out what on earth he meant. The answer came to her quite quickly, however; it was Matthew, had to be Matthew, for he was the only fella who'd ever visited her at the pub.
"Well, let's see what he wants then, shall we?" she answered primly, crossing the kitchen quite quickly, eager to hear news of those she loved, Mattie and Alice and Matthew and Danny and Charlie and Rose and him, most of all. The papers had been awash with innuendo and suspicion in recent days, but there had been no more formal announcements from the castle, and so Jean was left in the dark, wondering how her king was faring now that his child had come home.
"Oh, I've a fair idea what he wants," John told her, waggling his eyebrows at her insinuatingly.
I don't think you have the first idea, Jean thought, but she bit her tongue and brushed past him, making her way quickly into the pub's dining room. And there he was, Matthew Lawson, tall and brooding in his fine black suit, leaning heavily on his cane. It was just after lunch on a Tuesday afternoon, and the pub was deserted at present; those patrons with jobs were hard at work, and those without were still fast asleep. Jean greeted him in much the same manner as she had the last time he'd turned up, with a kiss on the cheek and a quiet word, and John shuffled them off to the same booth, pouring the same cup of tea, the same pint of beer, before retreating to a safer distance.
"You're looking well," Matthew told her, tilting his glass towards her in salute before taking a long sip.
"I am well," she answered, smiling. "The work keeps me occupied, and my neighbors are pleasant. It's not such a very bad place to be."
"That's good," Matthew answered.
"And you? Everything all right back home?"
She hadn't meant to say that, hadn't meant to refer to the castle as home, but in a way she supposed it was, and always would be. The castle was her home for that was where her heart lived, and always would; it was a place full of memories, the bitter and the sweet together, and it was the place where Lucien would always be, carrying on without her.
"Everyone is well. Alice sends her love."
Jean beamed at that; though there was nothing official about it - and likely never would be - the King's Personal Secretary and the Chief of the Palace Guard had always got on quite well together, had always seemed to...understand one another, and in her heart Jean suspected that if Matthew ever chose to tender his resignation Alice would not be far behind.
"I wanted to tell you, before you saw it in the papers," Matthew said then, and Jean's heart dropped like a stone in her chest. They aren't waiting until Christmas after all, she realized despondently; he's going to marry her, and they're going to announce it. She had known this moment was coming, had known that the King had chosen Lady Ann to be his wife, and that there would be no stopping their union, nor any need. And yet the very thought of it grieved her, more than words could say.
"The Princess has had her baby," Matthew continued, and Jean swung from desolation to joy so quickly it left her feeling rather dizzy. "A little girl, born a week ago yesterday."
"Oh, Matthew, that's wonderful news!" Jean cried, reaching out to cover his hand with her own against the tabletop. His was not the hand she wanted to hold in that moment, but she was grateful for his presence, his concern, his friendship, was relieved to know that the Princess and her child were well and healthy, that Lucien's family was happy and complete.
"Mother and baby are doing well, and the King is happier than I've ever seen him."
Jean's smile faltered for an instant, but she fixed it back at once. Of course he was happy, and why shouldn't he be? He had his daughter, his granddaughter, and a beautiful young woman to be his wife; a king could want for nothing more. If there was a piece of her heart that wished most fervently to learn that he suffered, as she did, from their separation, that he missed her half so desperately as she did him, she counted it pure selfishness, and tried to ignore the way her heart ached in her chest.
"And what's more," he added, "I have it on good authority that Lady Ann left the castle this morning, and she won't be returning. The papers will have a field day with that."
"She left?" Jean repeated incredulously. "Why on earth would she do a thing like that?" Though Jean knew she could hardly be impartial on the subject of the man she loved she could not understand why Lady Ann would leave the castle, and in so doing abandon everything Jean herself so dearly longed for. A handsome, gentle man, a comfortable life, wealth and stability, a grandchild to dote on, and - in Lady Ann's case, though not Jean's - the chance for a baby of her own to hold; what more could any woman want?
"You'd have to ask her," Matthew answered wryly, "but between you and I, I think she's done the king a favor."
"Oh, Matthew," Jean sighed, dropping her gaze down to her teacup and gathering her hands together in her lap. Perhaps this was why he had come, to point out that the king was no longer engaged to another, that the way ahead might be easier for Jean and her love, but if it was he was sorely mistaken. There was still the matter of the indiscreet way Jean had begun her first marriage, the matter of her lowly station, the matter of Jack, not to mention the heartless way Jean had been forced to abandon her king; perhaps he would not marry Lady Ann, but that did not mean he could marry her, and Jean knew it, even if Matthew did not.
"I said he was happier than I've ever seen him," Matthew told her seriously, "but make no mistake, Jean, he could be happier still. There is something he wants, very much-"
"It's something I can't give him," she told him sadly.
"You're both too noble for your own bloody good, do you know that?" Matthew grumbled. "He won't chase after you because he thinks it's not what you want, and you won't go back to him because you think he deserves better. From where I'm sitting, you're both as bad as each other. That makes you well-suited, if you ask me."
Jean laughed, a bit wetly, and reached for her tea, hoping it might steady her nerves, soothe her fraying heart. They were rather well-suited to one another, and perhaps that was the hardest part, the knowledge that they could have made one another happy, that they could have loved one another, that they could have built a fine life together, if only things had been different. The Princess's arrival had neatly removed one obstacle, but the others remained in place, and Jean could see no way forward for her and her king.
"It's the way things are," she said then. "And the way they'll always be. Now, tell me the truth, is Danny staying out of trouble?"