April 1947

The real feeling of becoming a father can never be expressed in words like his father had described but at the same time he felt like a fraud. He could be a father already. He had been sure that Sophia had been pregnant when he had been captured by the German's.

His suitcase had been mysteriously delivered to him, a few months ago. She had to be alive. She was the only one who could have sent it. Then he remembered he had lost it before he had gone 'missing.'

There was a tag on the handle with his name. George M. Crawley. His mother had asked about the initial. He wasn't given a middle name so he had given himself one, he told her.

"It's dad's." He had taken his dad's name as his middle name, as his father's middle name was his father's. In a way it would be a tradition. He also sometimes went by George M.R. Crawley, the R standing for Robert, his maternal grandfather. But he preferred George M Crawley.

The war office had sent it but didn't disclose were they had gotten it from. He knew. The last whereabouts were with her. He couldn't be sure but deep in his gut he knew. She had to be the one who sent it. That had to mean that they were alive. Or maybe he had never had it with him when he stayed with her.

That afternoon, Olivia went into labor. They drove down to the village hospital, a suitcase already packed. The whole drive was spent talking about how George had over packed for her and what to name the baby. It was like she was hardly feeling the contractions at all, till the closer they got to the hospital, it seemed.

Matthew even let her use his wheelchair and pushed her in. Quickly a nurse transferred her over to one of theirs. It was like a three ring circus, well, what major event for the Crawley's wasn't? This was the arrival of a potential heir.

I will never forget that forty minutes. Nurse took her to delivery. I was waiting for the results in the waiting room. I was praying to almost all gods for good health of my child, thinking of Gilly, and for Olivia. And after few minutes the wait is over, the door of the delivery room opened. The nurse came out, addressing me,

"Mr. Crawley" The next half second was like an hour to me. The whole world became mute. "It's a boy!" She said with smile.

"How is..." I barely seem to be able to get the words out, as if I might jinx it.

"Both are doing well." She said. "And as healthy as can be. Mother did exceptionally well."

Smile on all faces. A feeling of big relief.

After one hour all the family members were gathered around Olivia . She was in a subconscious state left over from the gas. I moved close to her. She looked at me. For all our surprise, she raised her hand and started finding mine. I reached out to her but she was unable to judge the distance and even direction of where my hand actually is. Finally I hold her hand.

After two days I felt several rays of emotions, a mix of fear, excitement, responsibility, stress, smiles and tear all at same time. Now my life became more significant as I became father.

"Have you decided on a name?" My own father asks.

"We have. We named him George Weston Crawley." I tell the family as they come in to see him.

"Little George." As Olivia says it, his tiny fingers curl around hers. "Or he can go by his middle name when he's older. Whatever he decides." His mother manages before she's pulled into sleep.

Little George is 8 months old now. When I see him, I literally feel like I am looking into the mirror. You come to find that every hope and dream you have, every joyous moment in your life, having a child tops them all. Your hopes and dreams become the safety and protection, the best life for your child. There wasn't anything you wouldn't do for them. I wish there was something that I could do for Gilly, born with a heart defect. He could require surgery to have it correct, maybe multiple as he got older. I can't imagine myself in that situation, my dad arguing against it. I can't imagine a small baby being cut open and being operated on. I guess I can see where Uncle Tom is coming from. Gilly was older and strong enough for his operation now, six months to a year was recommended. Nine months old still seemed far too young. Little George was a chuck compared to him. They shared the same cot in the night nursery. His rail thin legs and spindly arms contrasted to George's pudgy ones. Sybie's husband was uppity about it, worried that Little George would roll over him at night, as if he were more fragile than he was.

"They don't sleep in the same cot at night." Sybie said. "He's not that fragile."

A few days later Gilly was having trouble with his breathing. Within less than a minute, they were taking him to the hospital for his operation. Uncle Tom would be informed later, though I'm sure how that would turn out. I opted to stay and hope for the best. Right now, I had to be with my own son. I was surprised when the door to the nursery opened and Jo had come in.
"Sorry for being away so long." Her eyes looked downcast and shadowy, "forgive me?"

"No." She whipped her head around to look at me with an angry glare. I smiled. "It helps to know what you're apologising for."

"I feel horrible telling you this but I didn't want to be around you, after you came home from the hospital...things just got real. I felt like you weren't my brother anymore. I was so stupid, of course you were, how could I think that. My instinct was to run away from you." She closed her eyes as tears ran down her face. "I was the same way with dad when he was sick. That's why I ran away to America. That makes me the worst daughter and sister in the world because what kind of daughter is scared to be with her dying dad or with her brother who needed her."

"He's not dying now. And you're not horrible. Because if anyone tries to get close to you, you tend to flee? Because when you don't know how to face a situation your first instinct is to run? It's human instinct."

"Not really a good excuse."

"If you're worried that you're a "bad" person you probably aren't." I nudged her with his shoulder the way we used to when we were children. We both laughed.

A yawn emitted from one of the cots in the corner. One year old Noah was waking up from his nap. He'd be two next month, in February. Jo went over to check on him. He was playing with his ear.

"One thing I know for sure I'm not running away again, not for Gilly, and certainty not for this little chap!" She picked him up, happily. Olivia soon joined us, then accompanied by our father.

"So this is where everyone went off to." Matthew came into the room. He was frequent to the nursery especially since Carrie and Miles moved to London. He missed his Mattie girl. He adored and loved his grandson's but it just wasn't the same. He hoped if Andy ever got married, and soon, he would be the one to have a girl.

"Being around the young children was the best medicine to take his mind of Gilly. He had spent the last several hours praying for the success of the surgery and that he wouldn't have to face painful complications. He would hopefully not remember it at such a young age.

"How are you feeling, Papa?" Jo asked as she placed Noah against her shoulder, who started to squirm as soon as he saw his grandfather. Or it could be just a coincidence that he was a wiggly baby.

"Never been better." Jo gave an expression that said she didn't quite believe it. He was worried about Gilly. And then there was HIS health that she was probably worried about.

"Papa!" Noah chirped, reaching his arms out to his grandfather.

"I'll hand you to Grandfather once he sits down first."

"Mmmm...no." Noah pointed his finger in the air as if to make a statement.

Matthew sat down as Jo handed him to him.

"No question where he gets his attitude from." George said.

"Are you having a party in here?" Mary was last to join them. "Where's Andy?"

"Who knows." Her oldest replied. "Probably out getting plastered."

"Hopefully not." Mary had taken off her gloves and set them on the back of a chair. She went up behind where Matthew was sitting, rubbing his shoulders. His jaw was set, keeping something in. Massaging his shoulders loosened all his muscles.

Noah did not stay long in his grandfather's lap. He was soon sliding off it and down onto the floor, crawling over to his toys.

As every else left the room, one by one, Olivia and George remained.

"There's something I need to talk to you about."

"The whole families been praying. Even the whole congregation..."

"I don't mean about Gilly. I mean about..." George gestured with his hands. "us."

"We're alright."

"No. I want us to be more than alright." He went to touch her arm. "I love you. What can I prove..."

"You can't prove it." For a moment his face fell, almost believing there was no chance to fix things. "Because you don't need to." His eyes fluttered up to her in amusement and utter surprised. She put a hand to his face. " it can bee seen, it can be felt." She took his hand and looked down at their son, in what we created. Prove is not the right word. In my opinion, loving someone is the biggest thing in itself. if it's whole hearted and took her face in her hands and kissed her.

"Do you love me unconditionally?"

"Yes, of course!. What I said before came from a place of hurt. You loved some other woman before me. And I thought, he cannot possibly love me more or the same..."

"That doesn't matter. What we have is a special love that no one else has. If you love me, you can trust me.

"Yes, I've said...I never said you had to prove it to me. If someone loves you they can see it. And I can."

"Oh my darling." Oh thank God. But I'm sorry for what I'm about to say. "I'm so sorry...what I'm about to tell you. I have to tell you something." He's about to tell her, he really wants to get this burden off his chest. But is it really the best in the midst of this situation? His cousin is going through a frightening ordeal, and he's worried about his problems. Just making excuses to get out of it.

Jo popped her head into the room. "Gilly's out of surgery!"

They all went down to the hospital together, eager as they had waited for Little George's birth. But this was different. Something could go wrong, there could be complications.

Andy was the last one to arrive, surprisingly not wrecking of booze. George thought. Imagine the devastation. If he was living it up somewhere, while baby his cousin could die. He slid onto the bench next to George. "Do they know what's going on yet?"

George shook his head, biting back his anger. The family didn't need this right now.

It took hours for the doctor to come out. The surgery was a success. That was all the could say to the family. Sybie told them later that it had gone so well that he most likely wouldn't need any revision as he got older. Catch it early. He could still not be out of the woods. But they did not immediately think the worst. The Crawley's had too much of that in their lifetime.

George took his younger brother to the side as they family displayed their relief and tears of joy.

"Where you been? Off with a girl?"
"How'd you know?" Andy asked excitedly, failing to notice his brother seriousness. Sometimes he could though. Becoming a father had turned him into somewhat of a know it all snob. "I've been looking for Cindy, remember her? I was able to track her down.

He grabbed Andy's arm, his fingernails almost digging in. "Your cousins in there, fighting for his life and you're off chasing tail?"

"Don't talk about her like that!" He snatched his arm forcibly from his grip.

"I'll talk anyway I please."

"Boys!" Their mother caught on to their raised voices. "Now's not the time. Be civil."

""Yes, Andrew, please do." George gritted.

"We're not boys anymore mother. You have the war to thank for that."

"Matthew?" Mary asked, seeking his support. He did not reply, not wanting to get involved. There were more pressing matters at hand. Weather his great Nephew would live or die could still be hanging in the balance, even though the surgery had gone to plan.

"We'll talk later." He muttered, beside George but it was unclear who he was speaking to. His father's head was down, his hat shielding his eyes, but George could tell he was gazing at his hand, his fingers running over a long scar. Why hadn't he seen it before? He must have gotten it in the first war. He doubted that his father would tell him how he had gotten it. His war, parts of it, were still an unspoken wound.

"What's on your mind, darling?" Mary asked him. They were both sitting up in bed. Mary was reading a magazine.

"Just worried about the family."

"Gilly?"

"All of them. Not just the boys. Or the girls. They all did mighty fine for themselves."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Sophia."

"The American that left George?"

"No. The...the one from France. I think I may have found something. Where they are." He had never told her about what George had told him, nine months ago. They could have another grandchild out there. He thought about George's words, it might cause more trouble than it's worth. Still he wants to know what's happened to this child, if there was one. George had also recently confided in him that he could possibly be married to this woman by a friend of hers that they could hadn't been anything formal. He wanted to ask George if he used his birth certificate, but they had been interrupted by the severe news that had surrounded Gilly's birth (that he'd eventually need surgery) and then his own son had just been born. If he had the marriage would be legal and binding. If it was a boy, it would dethrone Little George as future heir. And he would he the illegitimate child.

He didn't care about that but there would still be a big upheaval. George and Olivia had just gotten to a good place, it might just undo all that. And then, what was he to do if he discovered there was a child? He or she could be the only family this woman has. What right would he have to try to take that away from her? He couldn't have sent for it, it would have alerted the War office and they would have been able to find him. He had a strong doubt of the authenticity of the marriage. But that wasn't the end of his worried. What if she was alive and she had been pregnant and she wanted money from them? No. He thought about what George had said about her.

If this woman really loved his son, she would do no such thing. But he would be ready to negotiate if it came to that. He was becoming frustrated with himself. He needed to stop with the what ifs. This was all theoretical. There possibly wasn't a child. If Sophia and her daughter were still alive, it was a big if. The lead could mean nothing. He might stir up something if he found out she was alive. Perhaps he should leave it alone. She could have been killed and that would hurt his son just as hard.

"You're going to tell George?"

"Should I?" At least he would tell him that he was sure the marriage between him and Sophia wasn't legalized, set his mind at ease. But he had went against his wishes, trying to find her. "He told me he didn't want me to find her. What do you think I should do?

"Follow your heart, darling." She put her arms around him and kissed his cheek, as she had always done ever since she was young and beautiful. Who was he kidding? She was still young and beautiful to him. She would always be.

George rarely had any nightmares, if he did, he didn't remember any of them. This time he did.

He was being shot at, and he was running. Running away from the bullets instead of toward them, heading instead toward a wooded area. He had escaped the Germans. No one was going to keep him prisoner. Then he felt something white hot shoot through his leg.

He was tumbling down an incline, and rolled into a creak. Two big hands grabbed him before he could drown.

He woke up, gasping, hands pulling him up from the water. He was soaking wet. He was in the bath. Now he remembers. He had drifted off, relaxed by the lure of the hot water, and the combination of exhaustion from a baby that refused to sleep. He blinked the water away from his eyes to see who it was but his eyes stung.

""What the bloody hell, man?" It was Andy's voice. He turned to leave the room, shaking his head. But there had been fear and worry in his brothers eyes.

He was helped out of the tub by Morrison and the footman. A routine he had gotten used to. Olivia was too short to do it herself. Olivia, who had been nothing but supportive since the beginning, and he had been nothing but horrible to her. Not just from keeping Sophia from her and the fact that he might have a possible love child. Imagine the horror and mess it would make (not just for Olivia. His parents would have the stigma of having an illegitimate child in the family. With Carrie it had been different of course. He was in the direct sight of the peerage. That was why he hadn't wanted his father to look for them. Even if there was a child.) If it was a boy and his marriage to Sophia was legal, Olivia's son, their son would have nothing. Either way one of them would be illegitimate. Illegitimate children couldn't inherit. That had never mattered to Olivia, the inheritance, and knew she would still love him all the same, but still, it was a betrayal. He had also treated her so unkindly in the first several weeks he had returned home. And she had stood by his side through his moods. He wondered why she still loved him.

Once he was dry and dressed, he went to go see where his wife was.

Olivia was in the nursery, folding the baby clothes.

"The nanny can do that." He said.

"I want to do it. It gives me something to do." Why did they not have any other words to say to each other? He wanted to talk to her. "Is there anything you wanted to talk about? You said there was something you wanted to tell me."

"It was nothing." He scratched the back of his head. Then he decided that he should say something else, before she caught on. Well what he would tell her wouldn't be a lie. "actually it was about her. I wanted you to know that meant nothing. Emotions run high in war. That's all it was."

I know." She came up to him and gave him a kiss. "I want to make this place nice and tidy for when Gilly arrives home, perhaps something special?"

"I'll talk to Carrie. She's the decorative one. She's bound to have ideas." He kissed her back and she happily left the room.

His father entered on her way out. "Son. I need to have a word with you." There was a hesitance in his voice. He was unsure of something. Was it his health? "I don't know how to put this...I thought it would put your mind at ease."

"Just get on with it, dad, I haven't got all day."

"It's about Sophia. I know I went against your wishes and I shouldn't have..."

"You found her?" He wasn't angry or upset that he had. He sounded hopeful.

"No. Not exactly."

"Then how exactly is that supposed to put my mind at ease? More like yours. What did you expect to do, if you found her, found out that she gave birth to my little brat? Pay her off?"

"Son..."

"I'm sorry. I know you wouldn't do that." George's heart sunk." I don't know why I said that." It was one of his lowest points, to accuse his father of something of the caliber. His father hadn't a bone of malicious intent in his body. "I'm just frustrated." He uses his crutches to sit down in the arm chair that seemed far to big and about to swallow him up. "I haven't told Olivia. I wanted to tell her. She knows she's not my first love and she's accepted that but this? I can't tell her this. That I slept with another woman, that I could...Have a child out there. That I'm not even married to her. That I'm married to some woman from a far of country that I barley knew on a whim Some fantasy life." He rubbed his eye. "I've potentially ruined my life, our lives. I know you were expecting the perfect little prince."

"I don't expect you to be perfect, and I'm not judging you."

""Sounds like you are." He took a pause.

"Still frustrated?" He asked his son, furrowing his brow.

"Sorry." George apologized once more.

"You're not married." His father continued, once his son was done brooding. He was far too old for that. He might take after him but he got his attitude, when it came to confrontation, things he didn't want to face, from his mother. Always deflective and a chip on the shoulder.

"What?" George had to tighten his jaw to keep it from falling open. A million things raced through his mind. He wasn't married to Olivia. He somehow had known it.

"You're not married to Sophia."

"Well thanks for clearing that up." He had nearly given him a heart attack. "Are you sure?"

His father put his hand on his shoulder. "It was done in another country and you didn't have your birth certificate."

"But we had witnesses."

"Doesn't matter. She could be dead." He hadn't meant it to come out that way. He was going to correct himself but he didn't have time.

"I loved her. Well, I think I did. I can't be sure or if it was just the war. I'd know if I saw her again." He rubbed his eye again. Why did it feel so itchy?

"We can't be sure she's alive."

"It would be best for all of us. Wouldn't it?"

"Don't talk like that."

"But you were thinking it. And I don't fault you. We both were. After all you've been through, It's not fair to leave you with my mess to clean up."

"That's what parents do for their children. In time you'll understand." He squeezed his shoulder again.

"I want you to stop, dad. Don't do this to yourself. Put it to rest." He slightly laughed. "Thought I'd be saying that to myself. Not to you." He turned to look at his father. "I mean it." He didn't want this to be the reason he was run into his grave, searching for a child that may not exist. But he knew his father. Once he got his mind on something, he wouldn't quit. "At least...if you find something, I don't want to know about it.

His father nodded. "I can accept that. But you will need to tell her."

"It's not really me you should be worried about. Andy was out late, when we couldn't reach him, before Gilly's birth and during his surgery. I know where he was. He was with a woman. Cindy Jenkins."

"Oh, yes. I remember her." He went along, knowing his son was trying to distract him from his own problems and put the attention on his brother.

"I think she's a bad influence on him."

"You, stay out of your brother's business this time. Last time it went disastrous."

"It was your idea."

"Hence why it was disastrous." They both smiled. "He'll come round. And I actually think the young lady might do him some good."

"What world are you living in?"

Kate joined Roy and his mother for tea, to announce their engagement to her, before the rest of the family. There was to be an engagement party of course and dancing, though Kate didn't want one. It seemed so daunting, going back to that life. They were joined by Roy's brother Ivo, and Sir Oscar Manning, that had been a long time companion of the Dowager Wroughton since her husband's death. Manning was a renowned painter. While they talked of art, parties and cricket, Kate saw it as a welcome distraction. Having no interest in the topics, she could find a way to bring up the good news. Then Manning had brought up nursing. She talked about her training, how she wanted to continue studying it. The conversation went radio silence.

Roy found it the right time to announce the wedding. That would be set for June or July. She overheard them talking about it, when The Dowager pulled him aside.

"An Earl's daughter, you can't do any better than that. But she will have to drop this silly dream. The war is over. Things are starting to go back to how they were. The way they're supposed to, as it should. The Lord Wroughton isn't going to be married to a nurse. Her duties come first."

She wished he would stand up to his mother.

Cecilia Raynor question why her son had fallen for this woman. Sure she was an Earl's daughter just as Roy was an Earl's son. Not many from their circle would want to marry him, with his leg. She'd have to take over her duties as countess, there would be no time to play nurse and she certainly didn't want her to be one to her son.

Roy had become Earl at a young age, had been for nearly twenty years. In 1927 his father had died unexpectedly, twice older than she, of a sudden heart attack. Only at the age of nine. She wished her youngest son had been born first. He had been born in 1924. It seemed that he was more fit to be Earl. Roy was too weak willed, looking toward others to take the lead, spoiled by his father. He needed a woman that was head strong. She didn't see Mrs. Heaton, (she had been married to a commoner of all things, but at least he had died honorable for his country, she could give her first husband that) filling that role. Her siblings had all settled outside of their class, except for her youngest sister, Caroline.

Roy was not experienced with women and had never taken interest in them, until now. Now that he has, he's made a rather poor choice. But what other option was there?

At least he wasn't moping anymore. She had visited him once in the hospital. When she had seen his leg as they had been chancing the bandages, she had run from the room and wept. If they amputated it there would be no future for him, there would barley be one for him now. He was wretched, she had expected that. She had sat with him all that day, in silence, trying to break into it but had failed.

And then she comes into his life again, able to break through what she could not.

Kate walked into the drawing room. Ivo was sitting in a chair, lounging with his feet up, a drink in his hand. He looked five years older, she observed, quite handsome, more so than Roy. She shook off the unwanted betrayal.

"You know it's not too late, you know. To choose the right brother."

"I'm too old for you."

"We're the same age."

"Right." To her he acted a lot younger. She supposed it came with having no responsibility now. Though he was still in the army, cleaning up 'the Huns' mess. And it payed really well. "I thought you had...what's her name, Kitty."

"Kitty's history. It was Sally last leave. Terrific girl. Wonderful dancer. Or was it a nurse? Don't know her name. Rather a quick one, one night in the field hospital. I'd escorted a chap over there who'd collected a lot of shrapnel, she told us off. I got us off the hook, if you know what I mean. One of the sisters caught us in the dressing tent, saw it rockin a bit. Sent me back to my quarters with a flea in my ear. I heard the nurse got into fretful trouble."

"You are dreadful."

"Well, you have to keep your spirits up somehow."

Kate nearly rolled her eyes. He was more like her younger brother, taking out girls every other week. She wanted something more stable and serious about life, someone who could treat her right. She believed that to be Roy. Johnny Bates had tried to prove to her that he was. But time and again, it seemed to her that he hadn't grown up.

"My dear, Kate, you are far more beautiful and desirable than any of them."

Her throat almost clenched at his words. He was so handsome still in his uniform. She felt this electric pull to him that she had never felt with Roy, not even Jack. How can you tell who is the right one? Feel so deeply for someone and at the same time attracted to someone else?

He's just drunk and it's not even dinner time yet. He doesn't know what he's saying. She loves Roy.

"Roy is so damn lucky."

"Yes. Yes, he is." She took a glass of whiskey and swallowed it, tasting like a bitter pill as it went down.

Andy had tracked down Cindy. She had still been staying at the hotel. But she wasn't there. He thought of only one place where she could be. She was at the lake, where they had first met.

She sat there watching the birds. She was so entranced that he thought twice about interrupting her. He would have, except for something that seemed to gravitate him towards her. He could slip away without being noticed. Taking a step back his shoe scrapped the gravel part, sticking out of the sand.

She turned her head up, shielding her eyes from the sun. "Andy, what are you doing here?"

"I want to apologize, for how we left things."

"Oh, how did we leave things?"

"My sister told me the truth, why you left. I want you to know I'm nothing like him. And I'm sorry for the way I treated you in front of my parents. I was in a bad place."

"Would you tell me about it?"

"I guess I started drinking, not because of what happened in the war, but because it made me feel what I felt over there. I was used to it and I missed it."

"In what way did you feel?" Surely he didn't mean that he had liked it.

"I don't know." The heightened scenes, the adrenaline, he had been addicted to? The fearlessness, until that day in the shell holes where he hid where everyone else died? "I know it doesn't make sense. I want you to understand. I've made a mistake."

"But things have changed..." She started. He didn't want her to get the wrong impression or get the chance to convince herself that it would never work.

"Yes, because I've changed. I've stopped the drinking. I'm nothing like your father. He will never change. I would never hurt you."

"I know you wouldn't." She said as he took her hands.

"You're the best thing to ever happen to me. I'll be fine if we try and it doesn't work. I'll be alright with that. But I want to try."

"What if we can't work things out? What if we're just wrong for each other?"

"We'll have to communicate. That's how my parents make it work." The corners of his mouth pulled into a frown. "No, wait. Who am I kidding. I'm sure there are things my father won't tell my mother, about the first war. But I don't want to be like that. I want to be all in. Anything you want to know or ask, I won't keep it from you. If you don't believe that I have changed, then I will do what ever it takes to prove it to you." He finally stopped for a breath.

She looked up with her green eyes and smiled. He didn't know what it was exactly he had said, for her to take him back, to actually give themselves a try. A chance.

"You have a woman who loves you for better or worse, richer or poorer, right?" Johnny asked George.

"Yes."

"I want the same. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. She's my sister and off limits. She's engaged now. I thought you'd given up."

"I promised to back off and I have."

"Good. I wouldn't want you to get with her and then end it. I don't want it to ruin our friendship."

"Agreed."

The bell chimed. The other guests had arrived. Their same usual crowd. Including Jo. She had convinced her somehow convinced Nick to move to London. Clare brought along her new husband, Jamie Murray. Her grandparents had died and she had been free to marry whomever she had wanted. Murray was a quarter Irish and catholic by tradition but both had converted to Christianity. Their famlies were both dead. They were both free.

George never understood such trivial things as politics and religion could sever a bond. His mother and father and completely opposite beliefs when it came to religion. His grandmother Rachel was a Jew and had been married to his grandfather, who had been part of the Church of England.

Clare's parents had been denied Visas to the United States during the war. They had died in a camp after her Uncle, a German officer had turned them in. He'd been sentence to hang at the Nuremburg trials for high treason and Nazi war crimes. He had written a letter to her, begging forgiveness and expressing repentance. Clare had torn up the letter on the spot. Yet it was clear that she felt deep hurt and confusion at the betrayal, that she still felt compassion for her Uncle.

George asked her why she was wasting her time. Why waste her tears?

"I'm crying because I fear for his soul. That if he doesn't really mean to repent, that his soul will be damned."

"If it helps you to tell yourself that."

"God asks us to have compassion, to forgive. You won't move on unless you find forgiveness for yourself."

He gave some thought to what she said.

Andy and Cindy were married in July, five months later, (after they had reunited) a beautiful garden wedding on the estate. The whole village seemed to fill the garden to witness and celebrate the marriage of the Earl's youngest son.

Kate's wedding to Roy was a few weeks after theirs. It was also to be held in the garden but it wasn't to be a sunny day as it had been for her brother's. They had to have the ceremony and reception inside. It still turned out beautiful.