Li settled into Wendouree Grammar after passing the entrance exam. There were a few incidents of name calling and plait pulling but when she threw one of the older boys in the same manner as she had thrown her father the teasing soon stopped. The headmaster wasn't best pleased at this display and called her father in to talk about her behaviour – or her 'fighting'.

"Seems the boy was constantly calling my daughter names and pulling her hair," Lucien hummed, "she tells me."

"So she says."

"And have you asked the boy?"

"Er, well he did admit to a bit of name calling."

"Perhaps he could be called in? Though I do expect he is a bit embarrassed about being bested by a girl."

"Her reaction was somewhat extreme," the headmaster muttered but had his secretary call in the boy in question.

"So, Martin, is it?" Lucien smiled kindly as the boy stood staring at the floor in front of him.

"Yessir," Martin gulped.

"Care to tell me what happened?"

"Um, well, sir, she …"

"She has a name, Martin. I use yours, perhaps you could use hers, eh?"

Martin licked his dry lips, "um, Li threw me on the floor."

"And why would she do that, Martin?"

"Um, I might have called her a few names."

"Might have called her a few names, that all?"

"And I might have pulled her plaits," he reddened.

"Did you?"

"Yessir," he whispered.

"So, do you think Li was right to throw you to the floor?"

"Maybe … er well yeah, I guess I had it comin'."

"It wasn't kind of you to behave like that to a new student, or any student, was it?"

Martin shook his head.

"Just to let you know, Martin, Li can throw me, as well. It's not a question of strength, you see, it's all about technique." Lucien stood up, "so, we'll hear no more name calling or pulling plaits, will we?"

"No sir," Martin mumbled.

"Good, now that wasn't so hard was it? We shall say no more about it, lad, stick to your studies." Lucien turned to the headmaster, "I'll be off now, Headmaster, I have a surgery to run and a murder to solve."

"Another one, papa?" Li gasped.

Lucien shrugged, "maybe it calls for Dr Harvey and Inspector Lawson to join us for dinner."

"Oh, yes, I like talking to Dr Harvey, she's really clever."

"Indeed she is, Li," he kissed her cheek, shook the headmaster's hand and patted Martin on the shoulder and wished them all 'good day'.

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There was a lightness to the atmosphere in the house, one that hadn't been there before Lucien returned. It was a happy house, always had been, but now there was more laughter, more music as Genevieve and Lucien taught Li to play the piano, and less solemnity. Thomas still had a small tremor so any injection work or drawing of blood was left to Lucien, he found having tinted spectacles helped his eyesight and prevented headaches and he tired a little more easily than he had in times gone by; but Lucien said he was in remarkably good health given the ordeal he had gone through.

Lucien also found Jean very useful with her knowledge of the people who lived in the town. His parents knew the circle they moved in, the dinners and social occasions they attended but Jean knew the housewives and the children, the shopkeepers and market stall holders and this knowledge was invaluable when it came to solving murders or cases of assault. She enjoyed being part of this side of Lucien's work and it was inevitable they would grow closer.

She also treated Li like the daughter she had lost all those years ago and Lucien liked that, he liked that she accepted her as part of the family and not as a curiosity and Li in turn turned to Jean when she needed motherly advice.

Jean did find, sadly, that she was talked about – again. Something that had not bothered her in years; now she lived in a house where there was an eligible bachelor and there was the usual assumptions, especially from those who remembered her youthful indiscretion with Christopher, the one that had her marry too early and suffer such loss. It was tiresome but she was determined to ride it out, hoping it would lessen as the time went by, after all who could she confide in? She couldn't talk to Genevieve, it involved her son; she had no particular friends she could talk to, not the sewing circle, not the ladies at the church – in fact they were the worst – and Li was too young. She would have to hold her head high and ignore it – there was nothing in it anyway – they couldn't read her mind or possibly know the feelings she had for the doctor.

It was Genevieve who noticed first. Sunday mass; she and Jean attended together with Li, Thomas was having a relaxing morning and Lucien was not inclined to attend, and Vivi had returned to her flat in Melbourne, so it was just the three ladies. She was looking around the congregation as Jean went to take communion, they took it in turns as there was such a long queue; Genevieve went first then Jean. There were heads bowed together and not in prayer, eyes turned towards her, then towards Jean and it was obvious they were talking about her – Jean that is – the talk about this foreign woman had long ago subsided – and she didn't think it was good.

Genevieve had always treated Jean kindly, more kindly than some of the others she knew treated their housekeepers, she was less formal before Lucien returned, now she treated her as part of the family, as another daughter. She started to listen more closely to what was being said. Snatches of conversation about people having ideas above their station, about mistakes being made again – she knew Jean's history … yes they were making assumptions about her son and the housekeeper. She gave the assumptions little credit, it wasn't true, and even if they were interested in each other – so what? Jean was clever, cleverer than she realised, she was kind and Genevieve had always believed love found you, you didn't have to look for it – after all diving into the River Seine one morning because she was bored had brought her a husband in the form of the soldier who rescued her when her skirts threatened to drag her under. She wasn't of a wealthy family, she modelled to earn enough money to rent her rooms and pay for her art supplies, she and Jean were the same, just of different times. No, she could accept her son falling in love with her housekeeper and so she would have to keep a look out for signs it was getting to Jean.

Jean returned to her seat and the service continued. Genevieve patted her hand, reassuringly, and they joined in the final hymn and prayers.

"That was nice," Li smiled as they joined everyone leaving the church. "I like coming to church."

"I'm so glad you do, cherie," her grandmother took her hand, "I suppose your papa didn't take you?"

"Papa doesn't believe, he says he had his faith taken away when he saw the dreadful things one man does to another, he feels God has abandoned his children. Do you think that is so, grandmama, Jean?"

"I think God sends us tests to see if we are still worthy of being his children, Li," Genevieve nodded, "but I understand why he would think that, after all he has been through."

"It is bound to colour his feelings," Jean agreed, "and there are sometimes even I wonder if everyone is deserving of God's love," she looked around and caught the eyes of some of the women who had been talking about her.

Genevieve wondered how long Jean had been putting up with the gossip. Maybe she would have to talk to her, after all. But first she would talk to Lucien.

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Thomas was sitting in the garden watching Lucien tie an old tyre to the apple tree.

"A swing, for Li," he grinned, "she had one in Singapore and loved it, hope she's not too old for it, now."

"I doubt it," Thomas agreed. "I do believe the ladies are back." He turned round to see Genevieve at the sunroom door.

"Hey!" Li ran round and out into the garden, "papa!"

"Hey yourself," he laughed, "remember?" he gestured to the tyre swing.

"Oh yes!" she clapped her hands, "can I?"

"It's all yours," he lifted her into it and gave her a push.

"Whee!"

"See, not too old," Thomas reached for Genevieve's hand, "guess he's not going anywhere."

"No, mon cher, he will stay."

Genevieve went over to the father and daughter and touched Lucien's arm, "a word, cheri."

Lucien looked at his mother's troubled face and wondered what had happened. They had been to church, there should have been no troubles there, notwithstanding his views on God.

"The study?"

""Oui."

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They passed Jean in the kitchen, singing to the radio as she stirred something on the stove. She took no notice as they headed to the study and closed the door, she was quite happy in this place where she could do things for those that were kind to her.

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"Has something happened, maman?" he let her sit in the chair while he leant against the desk.

"It's Jean …"

"Is she alright?" he started forward, but she caught his arm; it was the reaction she expected.

"Depends what you mean by alright. She seems in perfect health, if that's what you mean, but no, that is not what I'm talking about." She had wondered how to ask the questions going round in her head. "What do you think of her?"

"She's kind, Li loves her, she's a good cook …"

"Oh Lucien, not that," she threw her hands up, "what do you think of Jean?"

"You mean as a person, not as a housekeeper?"

"Lucien you can be so … yes as a person, as a woman."

"Oh …" he frowned and ran his hand over his head, "um, well …"

You took her out, when you were young."

"I did, and she was sweet and innocent, something I never thought to take from her. I liked her, maybe if I hadn't left … but I did."

"And now?"

"She is clever, I enjoy her company; when I have a problem she is there with a nugget of information, a little something I can use to solve a problem, it feels like she is part of the family."

"I have felt that, since she came here."

"Maman, would you mind if I was interested in Jean?"

"No, what I do mind is the busybodies of the town talking about her as if she is a scarlet woman."

"No!" he gasped, "surely not, she is the kindest, most loyal, sweetest woman …"

"And she lives in a house with an eligible bachelor …"

"… and his parents and daughter, really, do they think that of Jean?"

"They do, which is why I need to know if you have any intentions towards her."

"I haven't been home that long, maman, but I do like her," he felt like a teenager caught helping himself to the surgery's stock of family planning.

"I think she likes you, too, Lucien, but is mindful of her position. Don't make life harder for her than it already is." She stood up, "I know you are too old for me to tell you who or who not to court, Lucien, you would not listen anyway, you never did, but if you wish to become close to Jean we will not stop you."

It was an awkward conversation, Genevieve thought afterwards but she had noticed Lucien and Jean working on cases, discussing the persons involved and they seemed so comfortable with each other. The trouble was he couldn't take her out for dinner, not in Ballarat, the talk would be worse and as he said, he had his parents and daughter in the house so any 'behaviour' would be very, very difficult to hide.

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Lucien paused as he passed through the kitchen. Jean turned and smiled; he thought she had the loveliest smile, it always uplifted him if he was feeling down about a case or lately the bullying Li was subject to.

"Want to taste?" she offered the spoon.

He looked round for anyone else there and then pointed to himself.

"Silly man," she laughed softly, "you always want to taste."

He took the spoon and licked it. "Delicious," he hummed, "how do you do it?"

"That is a trade secret," she teased. As she looked into his blue eyes she felt that familiar pull in the pit of her stomach. It happened often these days but most of the time she told herself not to think of it.

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Li had gone to bed, the adults were sitting talking in the lounge with their usual evening drinks. Thomas hummed and turned to the radiogram, a little music, he thought.

Fiddling with the tuning knob he found a concert, just the thing for an evening at home. A waltz came on, a favourite of his and he stood up and offered his hand to his wife.

"May I have the pleasure?" he smiled.

"Thomas," she laughed, but all the same she took his hand and they began to waltz around the furniture.

Lucien watched and turned to Jean who was pointedly not watching them.

"Mrs Beazley," Lucien stepped over to her and straightened his waistcoat, "would you care to take a turn around the dancefloor?" there was a twinkle in his eye – a dancefloor it was not.

"Dr Blake, how kind," she managed not to giggle at his serious expression. She took his hand and allowed him to guide her round the couch and through to the dining room. He was a good dancer; he held her close, but not too close, at first, but as she relaxed and closed her eyes her head found its way to his shoulder.

Form where they were in the living room Genevieve could see how well they fitted together. "Don't look," she whispered to Thomas, which ensured he did.

"Oh," he breathed, "they look good together."

"They do," she agreed.

"I think she'd be good for him."

"Don't go getting ideas," Genevieve hissed, "let nature take its course."

"Like it did for us?"

"You pulled me from the Seine, but yes, I suppose nature took its course." 1

"And you are still as beautiful as you were that day, in your robe with your golden hair wet from your impromptu swim."

"Flatterer."

Another waltz came on the radio and they continued to dance. Lucien breathed in the clean perfume of Jean's shampoo and the floral overtones of the scent she wore daily; his mother was right, he did have feelings for Jean.

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So far Lucien hadn't so much as kissed Jean's cheek. His touches were just in the small of her back as he ushered her forward, or her arm when she came up with a snippet of information in a case. He could have kissed her the night they danced – but he didn't.

"I want to take Jean to dinner," he caught his mother in the studio.

"Of course you do," she nodded, "what's stopping you?"

"I can't; well not here, in Ballarat."

"Melbourne?"

"But what excuse do I have for taking her there?"

"I could order some canvases, you could pick them up for me …" she tipped her head to one side.

"And why would I take Jean for that?"

"Quite," she frowned.

"Don't you need anything personal, from a …a …" he scratched his head.

"Perhaps," she thought.

"Oh, bugger it, I'm taking Jean to Melbourne, maybe there's a show on she would like." He huffed.

"That's better," she smiled.

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Jean beat him to it.

"Genevieve," she put the phone down and went to find her in the sunroom. "Genevieve, Vivi just called, she's ripped her legal gown and wants me to go over and do a quick repair. She's in Court tomorrow."

"Of course you must go, get Lucien to drive you there."

"Oh no, I can take the train."

"Nonsense, Lucien will drive you then there is no chance of you missing the last train."

"But what if he's needed here, surgery or the station?"

"He's needed elsewhere," she shrugged, "the others will have to wait."

"Oh," Jean chewed her bottom lip, "if you say so."

"Ask him to come to me, Jean, please."

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"Ah, Lucien," Genevieve's eyes twinkled, "will you take Jean over to Vivi, she needs a repair doing on her gown. Perhaps you will be too late for dinner here …" she raised an eyebrow.

"Right, yes, of course …"

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"It's very good of you to drive me, Lucien," Jean settled in the car, "I told your mother I could take the train but she worried I'd miss the last train."

"You'd probably gossip about me," he huffed, "when you and Vivi get together …"

"We've been friends for years, Lucien, even coming to work for your parents didn't stop that."

"And why should it? My parents don't look on you as an employee, you are part of our family."

"It's kind of you to say so, but I do still work for them."

"Suppose so."

They said no more about her position in the house but talked of Li and how settled she was, and how Jean found her easy to love.

"I'm glad I came home," Lucien muttered as they drew up outside the building Vivi lived in.

"So am I," she smiled. "Are you coming in, or have you got something else to do?"

"I'll have a wander and come back later, you two can gossip."

"I've come to mend her gown, Lucien, and we do not gossip," she chided.

"Of course you don't, Jean," he grinned.

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"Oh Jean, you're a life saver. I've so much paperwork to do for this case, and you know how awful my sewing is." Vivi opened the door to her flat and heaved a sigh of relief. "did you come by train, I must give you the fare."

"Lucien drove me, your mother insisted. He's gone for a wander round and will come back later, he says we can gossip about him," Jean stepped in, "this is nice."

"Of course, you haven't been before, have you. Let me give you a quick tour."

It was a quick tour, the flat had one bedroom a living room and kitchen and a bathroom, but it was smartly furnished and decorated and there was a bookcase loaded with all manner of reading material.

"See," Vivi showed her the rip in the gown. "I don't know if you can do anything with it – I trod on it and the stitching gave way."

The yoke had come away from the body of the gown at the front. It would be fiddly but it was doable.

"I'll make some tea while you get started and we can gossip about Lucien."

Jean rolled her eyes, took out her needle and threaded it and got to work.

They chatted about how things were in Ballarat now that Clement was locked up and Li was in school. Jean told her about the small amount of bullying Li had encountered, how Thomas was able to do most of the surgeries but that he had to concede some treatments to Lucien.

"He doesn't seem to mind, though," she hummed, "I think he's just happy he's home and Genevieve is safe. They're very grateful that you managed to end it without her appearing in court."

"Well, it was more his attempted murder of pa," Vivi sighed, "he got a longer sentence than if we were just indicting him for harassment. He won't bother them again."

"If he had done, Miss Li would have thrown him over, just as she did her father, and the boy who was calling her names and pulling her plaits."

"That would have been a sight to see," Vivi laughed, "I still haven't seen her deck Lucien."

"I'll remind him that next time you're over you want to see that."

"You do that."

Lucien arrived in time to take them for a light lunch, just a sandwich and tea at a small café. "How goes the repair?"

"Nearly done, I found part of the hem has dropped so I shall do that this afternoon."

"Grand."

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Lucien sat with a Melbourne paper, Vivi continued reading her papers and Jean sat sewing through the afternoon.

"There," she shook out the gown, "that should do."

"Jean, you're a marvel," Vivi took it and hung it up, "I can't even see where the tears were."

"She's had plenty of practice on my shirts and suits," Lucien hummed.

"Yes, well if you will insist on doing the police's job for them," she raised an eyebrow.

"Mucking in, are you, big brother?"

"Well," he shrugged, "maybe, sometimes."

"Many times," Jean took her cup to the kitchen. While she was out of earshot, Lucien whispered to his sister that he would like to take Jean out to dinner, and to that end he had booked a table at a nice restaurant.

"But you don't want me as a gooseberry," she nodded, "that's ok, I have to work on these papers anyway. That can be my excuse."

"Thanks," he squeezed her elbow.

"You trying to court her?"

"Maybe, but it's not easy. The gossips are out in force again, maman has told me, even at church."

"Busybodies, how can you get up to shenanigans with your parents in the house and your inquisitive twelve year old daughter in the house?"

"Exactly, so any time you need Jean …"

"Got you," she smiled.

Jean reappeared, wiping her hands, "washed up for you, Vivi."

"Oh Jean, you didn't have to!"

"You're running out of plates."

"Damn, I knew I should have tidied before you came."

"Well, ladies, would you let me take you to dinner," Lucien looked from one to the other.

"Can't," Vivi shook her head, "I'm in court at ten and I still haven't finished my opening …"

"Lucien," Jean blushed, "I …" she waved her hands down her plain skirt and blouse.

"I can lend you a dress, you're about my size." Vivi jumped up.

"Oh, no, I couldn't …"

"Rubbish," Vivi grabbed her hand, "come on." She dragged her through to the bedroom.

"Vivi," Jean hissed as she rummaged through her wardrobe, "I can't be seen dining with Lucien."

"Why not?" she pulled out a grey silk cocktail dress, then put it back again.

"He's my boss' son."

Vivi pulled out a bottle green dress, double breasted fitted bodice, short sleeves and narrow reveres flared skirt and narrow belt, "here, this will look great on you, just your colour."

"Vivi," Jean pleaded.

"Jean, it's Lucien." She sat on the bed and pulled Jean to sit with her, "you dated when you were young and anyway you're not in Ballarat."

"Yes, years ago when my mother told me he was too grand for me and I should stick to being a farmer's wife."

"And how did that go for you? Christopher, got you in the family way before you were wed, you're better than that, Jean. You're clever, you deserve more than a farmer and scraping a living. You've done that. Mother's aren't always right, you know."

"And what is your mother going to say?"

"Nothing, she'll be happy if Lucien's happy and you are happy. She loves you both. Now, let's get you into this dress …" Vivi would have nothing more of it, but then Genevieve had phoned her the day after she had watched them dance.

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"Wow!" Lucien gasped, "you look fabulous."

Jean blushed, the dress fitted very well and Vivi even had a pair of shoes she could wear with it.

"Here's your other things, Jean, now go and have a good time." Vivi handed her a small holdall. As they left, Vivi whispered in Lucien's ear, "behave yourself, brother dear, she's very unsure about this."

"I will, thanks, sis, I owe you."

"Big time," she kissed his cheek and waved them off from the landing.

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"Oh Lucien!" Jean looked at the front of the restaurant, "this is too much."

"Why?" he opened the door for her.

"I'm a farmer's widow."

"So?"

"I'm …"

"… clever, beautiful …" she blushed even harder, "this is not enough in my opinion but I thought the Windsor might frighten you off."

She looked at him, that look she would give him when he said what he meant without thinking – in other words not well.

"Sorry, I meant I thought this would be more intimate – for a first date." He waited for a tirade, a long discussion on why he thought it was a date.

"Date? Lucien Blake …"

"Well, I mean I would like to court you, but if you think we should just be friends …"

"I'm your father's housekeeper," she hissed.

"So what? If we'd met in the street it would be the same, I like you, Jean, I like you a lot but we can't go out to dinner in Ballarat the old biddies will gossip like a cage of parrots; we can dine here in Melbourne, or Castlemaine or Bendigo – but as we're here … come on, they'll be wondering who's letting the draught in."

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Apart from a few heads turning to see who had come in, or to see if their friends had arrived, no one noticed Jean and Lucien enter and be seated by the window. Jean began to relax as their orders were taken and a bottle of wine was uncorked and poured. Christopher had never taken her out to dinner, in fact she didn't remember him taking her to a café either and while she had been quite happy to take Li into a small restaurant the last time they were in Melbourne this was something quite different.

"Jean?" he could almost hear her thinking.

"Oh, sorry," she cleared her throat and took a sip of wine, "I was just wondering if I had been set up."

""By whom?"

"Vivi."

"No, I do believe the rip in her gown was genuine," he shook his head.

"Not your mother, surely?" she gasped.

"Not precisely, no."

"She insisted you drive me."

"I know, and she did mention not to rush back for dinner, and she did mention about the gossip in church and that I was not to make life harder for you."

"So you take me out to dinner?"

"But there is nobody here who knows us," he sighed, "seriously Jean, like I said, I am very fond of you. I know things haven't been easy for you …"

"I get by."

"But you shouldn't have to …"

"My mother always said I should stay on the level I was born to."

"Mothers are not always right."

"That's exactly what Vivi said, but I was born on a farm, my parents were born on farms …"

"My mother was an artist's model – clothed I might add – her father was a farrier; so you see she wasn't born to a high social level, either."

"Oh, I didn't know." She thought about this for a moment, "I always wanted to travel, and yes, you're right, Christopher did take that from me, but it takes two, Lucien."

"And you weren't coerced?" he didn't remember her as a girl who would fall into bed at the first, or second, instance so he assumed that Christopher had put pressure on her.

"I suppose he wore me down," she sighed.

"That wasn't fair, Jean, and it was the last thing I would have done to you."

She thought back to the few times he had taken her out and she agreed he was right, she would have been safer with him than she ever was with Christopher. "What's done is done, and can't be undone."

"But you can move on," he let the waiter set down their food, "start here, Jean, with me, if you've a mind to. We'll take it slowly, at your pace, and see where it leads."

She smiled and they continued with their 'date', talking about this and that, the things he had gone through in Singapore, the life she had led after marrying Christopher and her worry about her younger son, Jack.

"He was always a bit of a tearaway," she hummed, "like his father, I suppose."

"Do you ever see him?"

"Not since Doug Ashby sent him away," she shook her head, "he never writes; to be honest I'm not even sure where he is."

"Where did Ashby send him?"

"The Reform School, here, in Melbourne. I wrote, regularly, he never replied."

"We could ask, if you want to," he suggested, seeing how it upset her – the not knowing.

"I'd like to know if he's alright, but not tonight …"

"No, we can look at that tomorrow, or when you are ready."

"Thank you."

"My pleasure, Jean."

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As they left the restaurant, Lucien offered her his arm and she accepted, much more at ease knowing they had his parents' blessing – which they both agreed was a bit silly, they were adults after all and not silly teenagers.

"What a lovely clear night," she observed.

"It is;" he looked up and pointed out some of the constellations, "how about a short walk along the foreshore, it's not far from here."

"Alright," she wondered how she would cope with the shoes she was wearing on the sand but after a few steps decided to take them off and walk in her stockinged feet. They wandered as far as the bathing boxes and back.

"Ow," she winced as she tried to put her shoes on again.

"Jean?"

"Sand," she held on to his arm and brushed off as much as she could. "I'll manage, but I'll have to take them off in the car."

"You sure?"

She nodded.

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As she lay in bed she thought she couldn't remember when she had enjoyed an evening as much as she had this last one. She had sat in the car on the way home, her shoes in the holdall with her other clothes, and they had talked and talked, they even made tentative plans for another evening out soon. When they drew up by the front door he not only opened the car door for her, he lifted her out and carried her to the porch.

"You'll rip your stockings on the gravel," he grinned and kissed her cheek as he set her down. "I'll get your things."

"You are quite silly, Lucien Blake," she whispered as she kissed him back.

"Life's too short to be serious all the time, Jean," he unlocked the door and they headed in, back home, back to reality.

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Nobody said anything about how late it was when Jean and Lucien had returned the previous night. Li asked how her aunt was, Genevieve asked how big the tear in the gown was and Thomas presented Jean with the days notes to file and bills to type up and send out, with a little smile.

Jean took Li to school and headed into Ballarat while she had the car; she needed place an order at the butchers' and to get Vivi's dress cleaned.

"Name?" the cleaner held his pencil above the ticket.

"Blake," she coughed.

He must have assumed it was Genevieve's dress as he made no other comment.

"Be a week."

"Thank you," she left and let out a breath feeling very much under scrutiny. It was odd, she frequently took Genevieve's evening wear and cocktail dresses there to be cleaned, so there was no need for him to give her strange looks. She brushed it off and headed to the market.

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The market was busy; as she waited her turn to buy some fruit she noticed eyes on her and whispering. She bridled but tried to ignore it, nodding her greeting to let them know she could hear them, they turned away, embarrassed at being caught out.

She bought the fruit she wanted plus extra for jam-making and left, head held high.

She sat in the car and thought of the women who had gossiped; not all of them were as saintly as they made out, at least two had fallen the way she had with Christopher and one, she was absolutely sure, was seeing Patrick Tyneman behind his wife's back. That of itself wasn't unusual, Patrick was known for cheating on Susan, but to talk about Jean as if she was sleeping with Lucien was unfair. There were two ways she could handle this: she could have Lucien be really cold and formal towards her in public and in the surgery, or she could show how close they were by smiling, taking his arm, teasing him … all the things she hadn't done with Christopher. She could also remind them she had recourse to the family solicitor should anyone spread slander and libel about her, after all that would reflect on the family. She would have to talk to Lucien, and possibly his parents to see how they would like it handled.

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"Oh, I see," Lucien hummed when he got it out of her. By the time she had arrived back from the market she had worked herself into quite a state, going over and over what had happened and now she didn't know which option to choose. Lucien really wasn't very good at this sort of thing, Mei Lin had always said so, he just got angry and wanted to go and give whoever a piece of his mind wrapped in his fist. He would be happy to be seen out and about with Jean but he understood how that could make things worse – as she reminded him, they weren't teenagers anymore.

"Which means that we know what we are doing, at least it does to me, and that we know not to make the same mistake."

"That doesn't stop the talk."

"What talk?" Jean jumped as Thomas poked his nose into the kitchen wondering where his appointment list was.

"Oh er …" Jean stammered.

"From the old biddies in the market …" Lucien scowled.

"They weren't all old, some were only my age," she huffed.

"… ok, the gossips … talking about Jean."

"Genevieve did say they did that at church as well, pity some of them can't look to their own behaviour before judging someone else," Thomas stepped fully into the room, "well, we are quite happy with everything, with you two … you've known each other for years, and I shall tell them so should the need arise in the surgery. Now, appointments, Jean?"

"Oh, yes, here they are."

"Ah, mainly women," he hummed, "I might have to ask you to state the nature of the problem before you make the appointment, Jean, seems rather obvious to me."

"What?" Lucien shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned with curiosity.

"They want to see how it goes here, with you and Jean," he waved the paper, "to see if there is anything that would give lie to the rumours they are spreading. How you handle it is up to you."

"We shall be completely professional," Jean straightened her back, "he is Dr Lucien and I am Mrs Beazley and tea will be served in the middle of surgery, as usual," she turned on her heel and swept out.

"That's told us," Thomas grinned. "Watch it, my boy …"

"I won't make life difficult for her."

"Good, I'd hate for her to feel she has to leave."

"Good God! She wouldn't?"

"If she felt she had to, but then they'd think she left because … remember Christopher."

"Father, did he force her?"

"That I don't know, and she won't say …"

"She said he wore her down …"

"Not surprised. I do remember when she lost the baby, though. I was working in the hospital that night. She was brought in, bleeding, and he left her with us. Poor child was distraught, the baby may have been an accident but she would have loved her. He couldn't be found to tell him the bab was gone, apparently he'd gone to the pub for sly grog. I told her she was to wait at least six months before she tried again but within the year Christopher junior was born; both pregnancies tired her, they were so close – but I think it was more the sadness of the first loss that caused that."

"So only the two?"

"She never caught again, as far as I know, but that could have been poor nutrition or she lost them as soon as … anyway, as I said, if she left they'd only say she'd done the same thing again and she would get the blame, not you."

"Right, well we shall have to be careful and if I am going to take her out we shall have to make use of Vivi's habit of tearing her frocks and inability to sew."

"I'd go separately if I were you, or take your mother."

"And how would that work?"

"Vivi could take your mother somewhere while you wine and dine Jean."

"I told Jean where mother came from, she was convinced she's not good enough because she was born on a farm … I think it gave her hope."

"I couldn't have given a stuff where your mother came from," Thomas huffed, "and by the time I introduced her to your grandfather we were married and you were on the way. He was captivated by her, most men were, as we have found to our cost, her beginnings did not define her and Jean's won't define her, either."

"Right."

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1 See 'Rescued' in the Challenges stream on my page.