Violet was nervous and excited in equal parts as they loaded her suitcase into the car. Dr Thomas had found her a nursing home on the outskirts of the St Kilda area of Melbourne. They would, he assured her, be kind and look after her until she had her baby.

"After that," he smiled gently, "it is up to you. You can come back, to Ballarat, or find your way wherever. If you need any help, in any way, please call us, you are not to blame for your situation, and we are here to help you, if we can."

"You have been more than kind to me, Dr Blake," she mumbled, "I don't deserve it, but I will do better, I promise."

"Take your time, child, you did nothing wrong," he warned, "think first then act."

"I will, sir."

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"Well, here we are," Lucien pulled up outside a beautiful building, "Stanley House – given over to girls such as yourself when the owner died and her niece had no idea what to do with it."

"Goodness!" Violet slid out of the car, "why didn't the niece take it over?"

"Her aunt had a kitchen maid that was treated much the same way you were, Violet, she had a little boy and Mrs Stanley took her on after the boy was born. With her niece's help Mary turned the house into a home. You will be well treated here, no one is turned away in your position."

Lucien took her case from the car and led her in.

"Ah, Miss Mary," he smiled at the woman who greeted them, "this is Violet."

"Welcome, dear," Mary smiled, Violet noted she was neatly dressed, her hair was cut in a fashionable way and there was a young man next to her. "This is Teddy, my son," Mary indicated the man, "he's almost the reason we have this place." No other explanation was given but Violet was curious.

"You will find out all you need to know, Violet," Lucien handed her her case. "For now this is where we say adieu; you know how to contact us if things go awry, but it won't. You will be safe here. If we need you for the court case we shall be in touch …"

"I hope you don't, doctor," Violet shuddered.

"So do I. Here is where your new life begins, good luck," he patted her shoulder.

"Thank you," she suddenly flung her arms round his neck, "for everything."

"Our pleasure, Violet," he smiled.

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"She will be alright, won't she?" Jean looked back at the house as they drove away.

"She will." He nodded. "Mary was used by the factory foreman and sent to the Magdalen laundry. She was found by someone who was looking into what turned out to be a white slavery business …"

Jean gasped.

"She was taken in and after Teddy was born she was given a place at that house as a kitchen maid. It was a long time ago, Jean, but the person who took her in was kind and she stayed. When Mrs Stanley died her niece had no idea what to do with the house, and her son didn't want to return to Australia from England so, she decided to do something amazing, with Mary's help. Now Mary runs the home; some of the girls stay, some leave, but none are ill used. Some of the babies are adopted, some stay and are educated …"

"… and no one knows their origins?"

"Not unless they choose to tell."

"Surely they are found out?"

"Some are, and if they are they hold their heads high, because none of it is their fault."

She frowned and chewed her lip.

"It's ok, Jean, you don't have to approve …"

"It's not that, I think they are lucky and it's better than having to find someone like Helen Murphy."

"And if it had been you, if Christopher had refused to marry you?"

"I don't know, Lucien, I really don't, all I know is I would have had to leave Ballarat but I didn't have anywhere to go …"

Lucien reached over and squeezed her hand.

"Let's find somewhere for lunch, eh?"

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Lucien drew up in front of the Reform School and turned off the engine.

"This is where he is," he hummed, "you don't have to …"

"I do, he's my son."

It was a simple statement of fact, he was her son and she wanted to see him.

He started to get out of the car.

"No, Lucien," she reached over and pulled him back in, "wait here."

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He paced round the car, up to the door and back again, five paces to the left, five paces to the right, round the car, up to the door, back to the car …

She ran past, tripped, got up again and kept on running.

"Jean! Jean!" he ran after her and caught her by the arm.

She fought to get away, but he wasn't letting her go.

"Jean, Jean, stop," he turned her round to face him and gasped. Tears streamed down her face, her breath came in short sharp hiccups, her curls had come loose … he pulled her close.

"Hey," he said softly, "hey, come on, shush now …" He guided her back to the car, there was only one place he could take her, Vivi's flat.

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"Here," Vivi had pressed her key into his hands, "no kid comes out of those places good. If you need to take her somewhere take her to my flat."

Vivi had come to act as Violet's solicitor and was still in Ballarat arranging the prosecution of Bright for assaulting young girls, assaulting his wife and daughter and denying them medical attention. She would be a while going through the police notes with Bill Hobart and Matthew.

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He didn't ask what had happened in the school, what Jack had said; it was up to her to volunteer the information, all he knew was he had to get her to a place where she could cry her heart out and maybe rest.

Jean was barely aware of him guiding her up the stairs, or of him unlocking the door and taking her coat and hat off her. He sat her on the couch and fetched her a glass of whisky and insisted she drank it. She gulped it down and coughed; he took the glass from her hand and pulled her close and let her sob, let her tears soak his shirt and waistcoat until she was exhausted. All the time he dropped little kisses onto her head and stroked her back and arms, murmured sweet nothings. She eventually fell into a doze, punctuated with hiccups and sniffs.

They had planned to go out to dinner but he knew she wouldn't want to, not the way she felt or to take the chance she may burst into tears in public so he lifted her gently and carried her to Vivi's bedroom. He lay her on the bed, removed her shoes and draped a light cover over her, while wondering if Vivi had some food in the kitchen he could possibly make into a passable meal for them both.

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He could make an omelette with the eggs and cheese, there was some bread and butter, and fruit that would do as a makeshift dessert. But first he had to ring home and let them know they wouldn't be back until tomorrow.

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"Use whatever you want, Lucien," Vivi told him, "it's all fresh. You look after her, you hear, or you'll have me, ma and pa to deal with, and Li."

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He put the phone down and smiled to himself, his family cared very much for Jean, and it warmed his heart that they had taken her to theirs.

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He had beaten the eggs in a bowl, grated the cheese and set a pan ready to heat. Maman had taught him how to make an omelette years ago, it would be light and easily digested but he would wait until Jean woke and reorientated herself.

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Lucien wasn't a quiet person, Jean always knew if he was in the house, but he had to keep any noise down while she slept; however, he didn't think some soft music would hurt. He looked through Vivi's record collection – there was jazz, classical, modern – he chose a collection of Mozart and put it on low.

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Jean stirred, blinked and frowned. The last thing she remembered was sobbing into Lucien's chest – the hurt she had been dealt by her son tearing her heart apart. Sitting up and brushing her hair from her forehead she realised she was in Vivi's bedroom and came to the easy conclusion that Lucien must have carried her there after she presumably fell asleep.

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The music drew her to the living room and she smiled to see Lucien lying on the couch reading the paper. She cleared her throat.

He jumped and nearly fell off the sofa, causing her to smile for the first time that afternoon.

"You're awake," he straightened himself.

She nodded, "thank you, for …" she waved her hand behind her.

"Didn't think you'd be comfortable here," he patted the couch and she went to sit next to him.

"You seemed perfectly so," she hummed.

"I tried to be quiet."

She shuffled closer and let him put his arm around her shoulders.

"Better?"

"A little. Why are you being so kind?"

He thought it was a strange question but he would answer it with the only answer he had.

"Because I love you, and I hate seeing you so distressed."

She snuggled closer. "Lucien?"

"Hm?"

"Do you mind if we don't go out, for dinner?"

"I didn't think you'd want to," he dropped a light kiss on her head, "so, there is enough to make a cheese omelette, bread and butter and fruit."

"Oh," she pushed off him.

"And you're not cooking, I can make an omelette." He pulled her back and kissed her – properly, this time.

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Jean was surprised to see he could make an omelette that was light and tasty and that he wasn't as messy a cook as she had thought he would be, however, after they had eaten she helped him wash the pots and clean up.

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Lucien poured them a measure of Vivi's whisky each and they sat on the couch listening to some of the records and canoodling.

"I thought we'd stay here, tonight," he hummed, "I'll take the couch …"

"Lucien, you can't, you'll be horribly uncomfortable."

"I'll be fine, there's only one bed, you should have that."

"Do you think Vivi would mind if I borrowed some of her nightwear, I didn't plan on staying over."

"I'm sure she'll be fine with it."

Even so, Jean was nervous as she looked through her friend's clothes to find something suitable. She chose a pair of pale blue silk pyjamas that were quite demure – for Vivi, - changed into them and slipped a cream silk negligee, that hung on the bedroom door, over the top.

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"Lucien," she hummed, "you can't sleep on the couch."

He looked up and smiled, she looked gorgeous, utterly delicious; she should wear things like that every night. However, he kept his thoughts to himself.

"There is only one bed," he shrugged.

"It's a big bed," she pointed out, not wanting to think why Vivi, a single woman, would want such a big bed.

"And what do you propose?"

"We share," she blurted out, blushing furiously.

He raised an eyebrow.

"We are adults, Lucien," she huffed.

"Jean …"

"You will get a crick in your neck and a sore back on the couch, that's if you don't fall off."

He knew she was right, but all the same, sharing a bed with the woman he was in love with, was dangerous.

Jean, on the other hand, had no intentions of forcing herself upon him or allowing him to take advantage, but, after that afternoon she didn't really want to be alone. At the moment she regarded this as a standoff.

"Lucien," she sighed and sat down, "Jack didn't want to see me."

He reached over and took her hand.

"He said it was all my fault and he was only messing around, but messing around with a gun is stupid and while I am not happy with him being taken away from me, it was his idea. All his friends said so, said he was showing off. He said some very hurtful things, that I was a useless mother …"

"He's wrong."

"How do you know that?" she turned and stared at him through the tears.

"Because I know you, I see how you are with Li – kind but firm – and while I understand you may have made mistakes life was not easy then. They had lost their father at a young age, something no child should go through, you were doing everything, running a farm, raising two boys trying to keep them on the straight and narrow, all Jack had to do was get in with the wrong crowd …"

"He's like his father," she heaved a sigh, "Christopher is more like me, I think. I worry Jack will do something similar, when he leaves school …"

"You mean get a girl into trouble?"

She nodded. "He just needs to get in with likeminded boys but he will go that step further. All Christopher's friends bragged about how many girls they slept with but I'm sure Christopher was the first one to actually go that far – I wasn't his first."

"You know that?"

"Aha," she swallowed, "he told me, and he told me I wasn't as good."

"Bastard!" Lucien spoke before he thought. Jean didn't correct him, but she didn't say any more about that relationship or about her meeting with Jack. It was enough he knew it hadn't gone well.

"Anyway," she shrugged, "enough of that, which side do you want?"

"Huh?"

"Of the bed, silly," she laughed, it was such an odd conversation to have with someone who was, essentially, her boss.

"Oh."

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It was surprisingly easy to sleep with Lucien in the same bed, in fact she felt she slept better than she had for months. He snored and huffed, but it didn't disturb her, it was almost comforting.

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They left the flat tidy, the bed changed and re-made, the pyjamas Jean had borrowed were to be taken with them and she would hand wash them before handing them back.

"Leave the bedclothes," she stopped Lucien folding the sheets ready to take, "she uses a laundry, they collect."

"She never was very practical," he found the laundry basket and dropped them in, "why are you taking the pyjamas."

"Handwash, they're silk."

"Ah."

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"Thank you, Lucien," she smiled as she got out of the car at home.

"For what, I sent you into the lion's den."

"For being there."

"Always. Jean?"

"Hm?" she turned.

"No; will you still marry me? After this, it was a stupid thing to suggest."

"It wasn't, you knew I wanted to know how Jack was, I should have known. Don't change, Lucien, it was a kind thought, you weren't to know it would go the way it did."

"Well, as I grow older I may change, but my feelings towards you will only get stronger."

"In that case, yes, Lucien, I will still marry you."

He ran round the front of the car, grabbed her and drew her into a long, deep kiss that left her weak at the knees.

"Lucien? Jean?" Genevieve had heard the car and opened the door just as Lucien let Jean go.

"Genevieve," Jean gasped.

"Maman," he grinned, "Jean has agreed to marry me."

"Oh Jean, Lucien," she held her arms out, "I am so happy for you both." She kissed Jean on both cheeks, "Li will be delighted … come and tell your father and sister."

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Thomas and Vivi offered their congratulations and he suggested they have champagne that evening, make a little party of dinner.

"Of course, that is up to you, Jean," he smiled.

Jean knew he meant because she would be doing the cooking but agreed it would be nice and immediately started planning the menu.

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She washed the pyjamas, thanked Vivi for letting them use the flat, "though nothing happened," she whispered.

"I know you, Jean, I knew you when Christopher was around and how you were when …" she cleared her throat, "and I know my brother, and though a bit of a rake he may have been in his salad days, he would never hurt you, or any woman in that way."

Jean smiled, it was nice not to be judged.

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Jean and Lucien both went to collect Li from school.

"Let's take her for an ice cream," Lucien suggested, "we can tell her then."

"She will be happy, won't she?"

"Of course, but I bet she'll want to know why you haven't got a new ring."

"Oh, Lucien, we haven't had time and really …"

"You are having a ring, one that will have all the gossips green with envy." He grinned and offered her his arm.

"Er," she looked at him.

He raised an eyebrow and offered his arm again, "you are better than any of them, Jean, be proud of yourself, 'cos I'm very proud of you."

She sighed, she would have to run the gamut of gossip again, but maybe this time if she just raised an eyebrow in their direction – especially those that had no room to talk – she could get by.

"Here she comes," he pointed to his daughter with a group of friends.

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"Oh, look, papa and Jean," Li told her friends.

"Why are they together?" one of the girls queried, having heard her mother talk in less than favourable terms about Jean, "like that, I mean?"

"Oh, papa's a gentleman, that's what a gentleman does," Li shrugged, "and Jean is lovely, she's so kind. I barely remember my own mother, Jean kind of fills that gap."

"Really?"

"Aha, she gives me hugs, has done from the first day we came here, she is a great cook, she makes sure my clothes are tidy and my hair, and … well she's just the best." It wasn't easy to say how she felt about Jean, but as a substitute mother she couldn't have wished for any better.

"Li," Jean smiled, "girls."

"Dr Blake, Mrs Beazley," the girls nodded.

"See you tomorrow," Li waved to her friends.

Lucien pulled out of the school car park, "fancy an ice cream?" he asked casually.

"Yes please," she pushed her books to one side, "how was Melbourne?"

"Violet is in a good place," Jean assured her, "it's a lovely house and the people are friendly. It is a home for girls who have made that mistake or had it put on them, so she will well-cared for."

"That's good," Li hummed, "it wasn't her fault. Aunt Vivi said she'd like to throw the book at him, or something very heavy."

"She did say everything would go against him," Jean agreed, "with all the evidence and the witness statements, though I hope the girls don't have to appear in court, facing him will not be easy."

"No, it would be horrible," Li agreed.

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They bought ice cream cones and went to sit by the lake.

"So, what's the occasion?" Li bit the bottom of her cone and sucked the ice cream down it.

"Who says there's an occasion?" Lucien swirled his tongue round the scoop, Jean shivered remembering the taste of him when he kissed her.

"Why else would both of you come and collect me?"

Jean thought she had a point.

"Well, Li," he hummed and stared out across the water, "I've asked Jean to marry me."

"You have?" her eyes grew wide as she looked from one to the other.

"I said 'yes'," Jean licked a drip of melting ice cream from the side of her cone.

Li jumped up and danced around, "Yay!"

"I think she approves," Lucien commented calmly.

"You might be right," Jean agreed, wondering how Christopher would take the news; Jack wouldn't be happy, or even care.

"Oh this is wonderful!" Li went on, "so," she turned to Jean, "can I call you mama, or mum, or mother ...?"

"If you want," Jean felt warm inside, she was fond of Li and this was important to her, that Li was happy about them marrying. Nothing anyone said, no looks she would be given would take that away from her.

"Have you told the others?"

"Your grandpapa is putting champagne on ice and grandmama is very pleased." Lucien hummed.

"Can I try some?"

Jean rolled her eyes but left that decision up to her father.

"I suppose we ought to tell Matthew," Lucien mused, "after all he has asked me to be his best man."

"Perhaps you could ask him to be yours," Jean finished her ice cream and wiped her hands on her handkerchief.

"I might just do that," he tossed the car keys in the air, "shall we go home?"

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Li was beyond excited all through dinner even though she was told the wedding wasn't going to happen immediately.

"It will be after Matthew and Alice," Jean hummed, "they've waited longer and we have things to organise first."

"Like what?"

"The date, where, guest list, dresses, food …" Jean ran her hands through her hair.

"Perhaps we should elope," Lucien winked.

"What does that mean?" Li frowned.

"Run away and get married in secret," Jean shrugged, "but I don't think that would be fair on you or the rest of the family."

"Lucien," Genevieve chided, "don't tease. You have the wedding you want," she smiled at Jean, "church or registry office is up to you …" she looked over at Lucien.

"Quite," he nodded, "whatever you want, Jean."

"Oh, I hadn't even thought that far," she gasped, "I mean it's the second time for us both …"

"But you are widows," Thomas reminded her, "the church won't object."

"It's not that," she shook her head, "I had a church wedding last time and all anyone talked about was the mistake I made – not that that will happen again." She added hastily. "But if we marry at the register office they'll say I am living in sin."

"Church it is, then," Lucien sat back, her faith was important to her and he wasn't going to be accused of taking that from her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Right, well at least that's one decision made," Vivi laughed. "Jean, I suggest you organise everything, he's hopeless."

"You both need to go and see Father Morton before you do anything else," Thomas hummed, "but for now, let's have a glass of champagne and just enjoy ourselves."

Li wasn't sure how she felt about champagne, she didn't mind the bubbles but she wasn't sure about the taste.

"Here," Lucien tipped some orange juice into it, "try that."

"Mmm, that's better," she hummed.

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Time seemed to flash by in the blink of an eye. There was the court case and trying to keep Bright's victims out of court and having their written testimony used instead, though his wife and daughter did appear – they wanted to, they wanted to show him they were no longer afraid. Lucien repaired Freddie's lip and arranged for him to have speech therapy, so they were not embarrassed or ashamed when they sent him to school.

Bright was convicted of his crimes and sentenced to a very long time in jail. The girls breathed sighs of relief and started to go out alone, or with friends again, and Grace Evans' family found some kind of peace.

Matthew and Alice's wedding was a simple affair. They were married at the registry office because Alice didn't want the show of a church wedding or the fuss and Matthew was happy if she was.

They were seen off on honeymoon and Jean set about arranging her own wedding.

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Father Morton had been a young and idealistic priest when he married Jean and Christopher, he had scolded them for ignoring the church's rules and had conducted a short ceremony for them with just their families present. Since then he had got used to her presence in the church, the floral arrangements she created and her regular appearance at confession on a Wednesday and mass on Sundays. He still remembered though and it came up when she and Lucien went to see him to ask if he would officiate at their wedding.

He had heard the rumours and had not considered them to have any substance – now they had come to ask this of him.

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Jean stormed out of the vestry closely followed by Lucien after he had offered a few chosen words to the priest. Something along the lines of if this was a just and merciful God why was he served by unjust and vengeful men.

"It's ok, Jean," he took her in his arms outside the church, "we know it isn't true, nothing could be further from the truth. I know you would prefer a church service but I don't think Father Morton is the priest for us."

"I thought he had got over it. We got a bit of a lecture when we got married, but since then I've come to confession – even when I have nothing to confess – mass every Sunday and I do his flowers. It's not fair, Lucien," she buried her head in his chest.

"No it isn't, but it's him, Jean; you believe in a just and merciful God, one who forgives sins, Morton is perpetuating that sin instead of following the teachings … let's face it Jean, he's as bad as those pious old biddies who keep gossiping about you and the girls Bright assaulted. If you still want a church wedding, we could try the Anglican …"

"Even after what he said?"

"You've paid the price for what Christopher did; you are good and kind, you have taken a motherless child to your heart and saved Violet from an awful fate at the hands of the nuns at the laundry. Personally, I think you should be canonised."

"You are silly, Lucien," she smiled through her tears, "Sacred Heart has been my church all my life …"

"Maybe it's time for a change, I can't imagine what maman is going to say to Father Morton." He raised his eyebrows.

"If she disapproves of his sermon she tells him so, and she is quite candid?"

"Sounds about right, candid is very polite of you, Jean, she probably gives him both barrels." He handed her his handkerchief.

She wiped her tears and let him lead her away, to the Anglican church.

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Reverend Cross was the opposite of his name. He greeted them with a smile, listened to their story and said he would be happy to conduct the service for them.

"The past is the past, Mrs Beazley," he hummed, "we all make mistakes, it shouldn't be held over your head for the rest of your life. You will be most welcome here."

She heaved a sigh of relief and they set about finding a suitable date.

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Father Morton's next sermon was on the subject of adultery – Jean didn't attend but Genevieve did. She told Father Morton he was likely to lose more parishioners than gain them with such vitriol.

"My son and Mrs Beazley are to married at St Peter's Church next month, Father, it would appear Reverend Cross was less judgmental." She was loud enough for the gossips to hear behind her, "we all make mistakes," she continued, "Jean has paid the price, many times over. I'm sure our father has forgiven her by now."

He was quite stunned and the ladies behind her shuffled their feet in embarrassment. She swept out.

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Li spun round, the skirt of her dress full and floating. Jean had asked her to be her bridesmaid, there hadn't been one the first time and she really wanted her to be involved. The dress was simple in design, a sleeveless fitted bodice in sky blue satin and the full skirt had layers of chiffon and a wide satin sash. She would wear a circlet of flowers in her hair.

Jean's dress was cream, but so light it was almost white, fitted and flared in panels with a lace yoke and sleeves. It fastened down the back with tiny pearl buttons and settled at mid-calf. It was elegant, sophisticated and showed no sign she had to get married. She had decided on a small matching hat with a veil over her forehead only.

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The day was warm and sunny; Vivi had come over from Melbourne the night before and they had had a quiet hen's night in, sending Lucien and Thomas to the Colonist's Club for a couple of hours.

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She woke to a soft knock on her bedroom door. Genevieve entered with a tray of tea, eggs and toast.

"Oh, goodness!" she sat up and brushed her hair out of her eyes, "I should be up."

"No, today we look after you, Jean. Today you become my daughter-in-law and I serve you, today."

Tomorrow would be different, she knew, and all the days to come; she would feed her family, her family, not her employers.

The sat together and drank the tea and Jean ate her breakfast, breaking her own rule about eating in the bedrooms.

"Now, let the others use the bathroom, Lucien has promised not to try and see you before church …"

"Good job the wedding's this morning," Jean smiled, "you know he likes to bend the rules."

"For you, cherie, he would walk over hot coals," Genevieve kissed her cheek.

"We shall see."

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Left in her room, she turned on her little radio and wondered how she could pass the time. She had packed her suitcase for their honeymoon, even though she didn't know where they were going, there was just her toiletries to go in and her hairbrush. She heard footsteps on the landing, the bathroom door open and close, footsteps up and down the stairs and hoped someone would poke their nose round the door. It was Vivi.

"Can I come in?"

"Oh please do," Jean shifted on the bed.

"Ma is doing your flowers, with Li, who is so excited I think she'll burst. I've washed up, apparently it's all they trust me with."

"What's Lucien doing?"

"Pacing, pa told him to go and chop some logs for the fire. He'll shower afterwards, just before you have the bathroom."

"Why is he nervous?"

"Because he wants to be the best for you, he knows you've been hurt and he doesn't want to do that to you …"

"He won't."

"He might, he might go too far …"

"You know when we took Violet to Melbourne and I went to see Jack?"

"Yeah, he told me over the phone, why you would be staying over."

"You only have the one bed."

"There's only me."

"I made him share, he was going to sleep on the couch but he would have ended up with a stiff neck and a sore back. So, I made him share. We just slept …"

"I didn't think you would do anything else, but you are adults, you know the consequences of not 'just sleeping'." Vivi smiled.

"I trust him, I knew he wouldn't do anything unless I started it."

"I'm so glad you are marrying him. He needs you, you ground him."

"He makes me feel safe."

Vivi patted her hand, "I'll come and do your hair later."

"Thank you, Vivi."

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Jean had assumed she would walk down the aisle alone, she had no father to give her away and it would be silly for Thomas to do it but, there, standing by the church doorway was her son, Christopher, in his corporal's uniform. Not having heard from him when the invitations had been sent out she assumed he would not be there, but he had written to Thomas and asked it to be a secret. Her letters to him had assured him she was marrying a good man, that he would make her happy, and though he had not met Lucien he thought maybe he should do this for her – give her away.

"Hello, mum," he murmured, "you look lovely."

"Oh Christopher," she struggled to contain her tears, "I thought …"

"I asked Dr Thomas to keep it a secret," he offered her his arm, "you say Dr Lucien is a good man, I trust your judgement so I thought I should do this."

"Thank you."

"Jean?" Li had come to stand beside her.

"This is my son, Christopher. Christopher, this is Li, Lucien's daughter."

"Miss Li," he nodded, "good to meet you."

"Hello," Li smiled.

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"Don't," Matthew hissed as Lucien made to turn round, "but you should know her son is giving her away."

"Oh," he blinked.

Alice was sitting next to Vivi who suddenly seemed overcome with emotion.

"Silly me," she sniffed, "he's my brother, don't know why I'm crying."

"Maybe it's because you care," Alice smiled.

"You happy, with Matthew?"

"Very," Alice smiled and blushed a little.

"Good."

Thomas slipped in beside Genevieve and held her hand. They had missed Lucien's first wedding but the pictures had told the story – it was a grand wedding, Mei Lin's family were wealthy. This wedding was more intimate, he thought, just good friends and family. A bit like his and Genevieve's.

The wedding went off without a hitch. They said their vows clearly, Jean didn't vow to obey Lucien, Matthew said later that it should have been the other way round.

"In that case," his wife nudged him, "maybe you should have vowed to obey me."

"Nuff said," he grinned.

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The reception was held in the upstairs rooms at the club. Cec Drury had put on a fine spread under the direction of Mrs Blake and had arranged a band to play for the dancing. Matthew gave an amusing speech about his 'best mate', and Christopher made a short speech about how his mother was the best person he knew and how she was strong and kind and deserved some happiness.

They danced and drank champagne, talked and laughed until Lucien decided he would take his bride away. He murmured as much to his mother.

"Let me take her to change, cheri," she touched his arm, "she can't travel in her wedding dress."

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Jean looked equally as beautiful in the pale blue suit she wore to go away in. Lucien was used to seeing her in her plain blouses and skirts, summer dresses which were all pretty and well made, but her wedding dress and now this suit – he thought perhaps his mother had had a hand in her new wardrobe. He was correct in his thinking, Genevieve had taken Jean shopping and had paid for a whole new wardrobe – her trousseau she called it.

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Jean signed the document in the passport office: Jean Mary Blake, and passed it back to the clerk.

"Be ready tomorrow," he hummed.

"Oh, right," she gulped.

"We're staying at the Windsor tonight," Lucien escorted her out, "tomorrow we leave for France."

"How are we getting there?"

"Air and sea," he hummed, "we shall stop in some countries – you said you wanted to travel, Jean, you are going to travel …"

"Oh Lucien," she gasped, "surely it will take too long."

"It won't be a week away, that's for sure, we will be away for nearly four months. Alice is going to help dad, maman is going to take over the cooking and have a cleaner in, Vivi will drop by regularly and Li wants postcards – lots of postcards."

"Oh, you've planned this, haven't you?"

"I have; Matthew thinks you'll have thrown me overboard by the time it's all over …"

"Never," she tiptoed up and kissed him.

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Lucien had booked a suite at the Windsor where they could do all the things newlyweds were expected to do, and more. He was a gentle lover, knowing enough of her past experiences, he took his time to make love to her, to make her feel she was the only woman in the world.

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It was all so new and so exciting, Jean didn't have time to feel the effects of sea or air travel; she ate and drank new things and those things she thought most highly of she made a note in a notebook she had to buy.

"I'd like to widen my cooking repertoire," she told him when he raised his eyebrows.

"You're a good cook, Jean. We all love your meals."

"I know, but I should like to try some new recipes."

"Please don't abandon your rabbit stew."

"I won't but I do like this way, mustard and cream?" She finished the last of the dish.

He sliced into his very rare steak and savoured the taste.

"Perhaps that, as well," she nodded, "though I think I would prefer it cooked a little more."

"That's the thing with a good steak, you have it the way you like it."

"So, where to, tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow we are going to see my uncle …"

"Your uncle?"

"Maman's brother, Pierre, he's the only one she keeps in touch with. He still lives in the town they grew up in, he's the local blacksmith."

"Oh, she never said, though I should have realised when she got letters from France."

"She and Pierre are as close as me and Vivi," he hummed, "he was glad she had a way to make something of her life with dad, he encouraged them."

"I wish me and my sister were as close," Jean mused, "I very rarely hear from her, she only wrote to tell me when Danny and Amy were born; I've seen then a few times but I think she thinks I'll lead Amy down the same path I went."

"I would have thought you were more likely to warn her off that, given how it turned out for you."

"I certainly wouldn't encourage her. Danny's eleven now, Amy's two year's younger."

"If you want to call, on the way back …"

"I did invite her, but she refused. Probably thinks I have to get married."

"Where is she?"

"Castlemaine, she went there when she got married."

"Ah," he nodded wisely, "well, as I said …"

She shrugged, she'd think about it.

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Pierre Etienne was delighted to see his nephew and meet his new wife. Genevieve had told him all about them, and over the years she had told him of Lucien's exploits and Vivi's accomplishments but this was the first time they had met, face to face.

He was a big, barrel chested man, bearded, and had a look of a much older Lucien about him. Jean liked him, instantly, and even though he spoke no English and Lucien had to translate for them, they got on famously. They were invited to dine by his wife, Véronique, a tiny, bird-like woman who obviously kept her husband in his place, sweetly, and were fed a hearty beef stew laden with vegetables and red wine. It was served with fresh, crusty bread and washed down with the same robust wine and water.

All too soon they had to leave. Jean didn't think she had ever felt so welcome by anyone in her whole life than she had by Lucien's family.

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They landed at Melbourne airport after a return journey much in the same manner as the outward journey. They had sent postcards as requested by Li and had reels of film to be developed but tonight they were staying in the Windsor, again, and would complete the trip by train tomorrow.

"What day is it?" Jean yawned and flopped onto the bed.

"Tuesday," Lucien looked at the paper, "May ninth, 1949." He looked over at her, she was asleep.

He had got used to undressing her, usually to treat her like a goddess and love her like it was the end of the world, but this time he undressed her and settled her in the bed. He would have dinner sent up later.

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"Back to normal," Jean lifted her small suitcase off the rack.

"A new normal," Lucien took it off her, "the trunk will have to be sent up, it won't fit in the car."

"Taxi?"

"I assume so, though I did tell father what time we would be arriving."

"There he is," she pointed across the platform as she stepped down, "and Genevieve."

Genevieve had told her husband they would them up from the station and he was not to tell Li they were due back.

"I think it would be nice if they collected her from school, don't you? As a surprise?"

They embraced and kissed cheeks. Genevieve told Jean she looked wonderful.

"Marriage suits you," she smiled.

"Lucien suits me," she looked up at him.

"I think you suit him."

"That she does," he agreed. "Uncle Pierre and Aunt Véro send their love, we had a lovely couple of days seeing them, they insisted on feeding us."

"He did say," she nodded, "he wrote almost as soon as you left, I think. He's threatened to come over and see us."

"That would be lovely."

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Jean instinctively ran her finger over the hall table as she walked into the house. It was dust free. Genevieve giggled. Thomas nodded wisely,

"See, I knew she'd do that," he nudged her, "she has standards does our Jean."

'Our Jean', how warm that felt, for her it was confirmation of her acceptance as a Blake.

"Tea?"

"Oh yes please," Jean took her hat off and ran her fingers through her hair.

"Proper cup, Jean," Lucien laughed.

"It was alright in England."

"But everywhere else?"

"It did leave something to be desired in some places," she admitted. "But the coffee was lovely." She added.

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The sat and chatted about the places they had seen, the people they had met and the food they had eaten.

"Jean has a notebook of recipes and meals she particularly enjoyed," Lucien blew over the top of his cup.

"I thought a wider repertoire, but I've promised not to forget rabbit stew."

"Help yourself to my old recipe books, Jean," Genevieve indicated the never used cookbooks on the shelf, "and I have my grandmother's recipes somewhere. They will need translating, though."

Jean knew about the books on the shelf but had only opened one. Because it was written in French she had put it back and left it. She had noticed, however, that there were handwritten notes on some of the pages, perhaps Genevieve wouldn't mind if she did that and had her and Lucien help her. She'd think about it, for now she would drink her tea and get used to hearing her native language and native accent.

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They stood much as they had done the day they told Li there were to be married. Jean wore the suit she had travelled in that morning because it was fresh and clean and very elegant. She looked like the wife of a successful, professional man, which she was; Lucien just looked like the cat that had got the cream.

"Wipe that smirk of your face, Lucien," she teased.

"Can't," he grinned back, "it's permanent. You can't wipe happiness away, not this kind, anyway."

"You are silly," she murmured, but resisted the urge to kiss him there, in front of other mothers who were unable to stop staring. She nodded at a few and smiled; some nodded back, some smiled, some looked astonished – why, she had no idea. The wedding had been in the papers and she hadn't grown an extra head. Perhaps they were jealous of her good luck, or were surprised Lucien hadn't changed her for another foreigner like his mother.

"Here she comes," Jean whispered, spotting her step-daughter with her usual group of friends.

"Papa! Mum!" Li screamed and hurtled towards them, flinging herself at them and almost knocking Jean over.

Jean laughed and hugged her with the arm that wasn't hanging on to her husband for dear life. "When did you get back? Grandmama didn't say anything," she stood back and looked at them, "I have missed you."

"And we have missed you, did you get our postcards?" Jean kissed the side of her head.

"I've saved them all, in an album," she laughed, "you must tell me everything."

'Perhaps not everything,' Jean thought.

"We'll tell you about our travels," Lucien put his arm round her and they headed to the car.