It was already dark by the time the carriage drove through the gate and over the sloping gravel pathway that lead up to the large manor house that was nestled comfortably in the landscape further up the hill, the colouring trees having spread their leaves over the yellowing field that lay around it, which complemented the warm glow of the stone exterior walls of the building. The chill in the air was already hinting at the winter that was fast approaching and the warm light of gas lamps, fireplaces and candles that shone through some of the many windows that Paul was already able to see from the carriage despite the long distance, promised a warmth and a comfort that now proved to be not as easily accessible as it had once been.

As the carriage drove further up towards the building, Paul found himself musing over the last couple of days that he and John had spent together, travelling back from Paris to Liverpool, a journey that had gone rather too smoothly in his opinion, an opinion that he knew John shared. Although they had done barely anything more than sleep, eat, read, and talk, it had been nice to spend some more time together now they had still been able to, and Paul fondly remembered the numerous times he had either fallen asleep or woken up with his head resting on the other man's soft chest, while John had his arms wrapped around him, holding him close and refusing to let him go again either until he fell asleep himself or Paul insisted he would relieve himself on him if he had to. It had been a pleasant couple of days, and Paul felt sad to think those days were now over; even if they had decided to continue whatever it was they had together, doing what they had done in Paris and living the way they had was not a possibility for them anymore. He wished the carriage had broken down, or that they had been captured by a storm, rendering them unable to travel for a couple days and lengthening the time they had together, but they had not been so lucky, and now he was here again, home, alone.

The carriage halted abruptly half-way down the path, causing Paul to tumble forward in his seat and land face-first into the bench opposite him, tearing him away from his thoughts. The horses pulling the carriage neighed in fright, startled by something in the dark, and Paul could hear the coachmen trying to sooth them, gently calling at them in a soft voice and urging them to calm down with promises that it was alright, before the man started to shout profanities at whatever it was that had caused the horses to startle as they had. It appeared, for as far as Paul could judge from inside the carriage, to be a man or a boy, for he could hear some inaudible whimpering and muttering of apologies that were rudely overpowered by the loud booming voice of the angry coachman, making it hard for Paul to make out who he was yelling at, or even what he was yelling about, the man being incomprehensible in his anger. Paul, picking himself up and straightening out his clothes and hair as he made sure he hadn't hurt himself, grumbled some curses before he pushed the carriage door open and jumped down to see what was the matter and to keep his coachman from hurting anyone if necessary.

"Sir! Are you alright, sir? My apologies. The horses..." the coachman started as soon as he heard the carriage door slam shut, but he swallowed down the rest of his words as soon as Paul raised his hand to motion him to keep silent and he walked over to them as he buttoned up his coat to shield himself from the cold.

"Yes, Miles. Thank you. Now, who has-" he started, but before he could finish his own sentence the man or boy - Paul could not make him out properly in the surrounding darkness - cried out his name and scrambled up from where he had fallen onto the muddy ground, and hurried over to him with a surprising eagerness that neither he nor Miles had expected. Startled, Paul took a step back on instinct, unsure what the stranger might do to him. It was only when the person in question was about five feet away from him that Paul recognised his friend.

"Paul! You are back! I had hoped you would be," George exclaimed, clasping Paul's hand tightly in his own as a bright smile spread across his face that reached all the way to his eyes, which shimmered with happiness and something else that Paul had a hard time pinning down. Empathy? Relief? Worry? He wanted to ask, but George did not give him the chance. Releasing his hand, the man glanced back towards the manor, eyeing it for a brief moment with what seemed like suspicion, before he turned back to his friend and pulled him closer by his shoulder, turning them away from the coachman, who was watching the pair curiously as he petted the horses, which were trampling about restlessly.

"Your father has been waiting for you," George said, lowering his voice to something barely louder than a whisper, "I thought you might appreciate it if you knew about this beforehand, which is why I was waiting for you - the horses spooked when I tried to stop the carriage - but I heard your father saying to Matthews that as soon as you were home, he was to bring you to him, no matter the time. "

"When was this?" Paul enquired, though not surprised by the news.

"Two days ago. I have been watching out for you since then; benefit of being a gardener I suppose, no one notices you. Ever since he has received the news that the Ashers were coming here from London, he has been impatient to see you home again. He's been rather... irritable, if you don't mind my saying so."

"He is not ill-tempered, is he?"

"Oh no. Quite the contrary! He has been very eager to see you again. Excited even, I would say. But as you were Paris... It makes him impatient, which is not a good thing for servants like us, either, as you can imagine," he said with a small grimace, hoping for some sympathy, but Paul had other things on in his mind that were more pressing to him.

"And the Ashers?" he asked, "they are not here yet, are they?"

George shook his head. "They won't be here until tomorrow morning at the earliest. But of course your father wanted you to be here before then. It would have been improper if you had not been here to welcome Miss Asher in person, seeing as your engagement is the reason for their visit in the first place. Your father was very worried about that," he explained and Paul nodded as the thought it over, gnawing his teeth.

"Thank you, George," he said after a while, and George nodded back at him as he squeezed his shoulder in an encouraging manner, wishing him good-luck, before he pulled away from his friend.

"I am certain your father will be most pleased to see you again, Paul. He cares about you more than you think," he said and Paul smiled thankfully at him, hoping he was right.

"I will come and visit you and Pattie soon. I am sorry I haven't been a better friend. It's just... with everything that has been happening lately...," he said, but George waved the apology away with a smile and a shake of his head.

"Just come and visit us soon. Pattie will greatly appreciate it, as will I. And don't worry about talking to your father about that raise I asked you about. I know this is not the best time for you to ask him any favours like that, and I can do it myself-"

"No, George. I promised I would help you with that, and so I will, and no, this is not up for discussion. I'll talk to him for you after the Ashers have arrived. He should be more agreeable then. It's the least I could do for you two," Paul insisted, smiling at his friend, who smiled back thankfully, seeming relieved to hear that. Paul was not surprised; he knew as good as anyone else how intimidating his father could be.

"Thanks, Paul. I really appreciate it. Just come by whenever you have time. You're always welcome, you know that," he said and with that the two friends wished each other a good evening. Paul promised he would visit them sometime this week, depending on how business with the Ashers would go, hopefully with good news, and George wished him luck, before the former stepped back into the carriage to continue the last of the way up to the manor, leaving the latter to walk home alone beneath the calming light of the moon, and to admire the gardens he worked so hard to maintain.

***

Despite the late hour, it appeared most inhabitants of the manor had not yet retired for the evening, nor did it seem that the Fishwicks had gone back home either, as the first people Paul met as he stepped inside, the large door falling shut behind him with a loud thud that echoed through the hallway, were his brother and his fiancé who stood conversing on the balcony on the first floor, their arms resting on the railing, their fingers intertwined. Both of them glanced down at the sound of the door falling shut and Mike's eyes lit up as they met his brother's.

"Paul! You are home. How was Paris?" he called out, pushing himself away from the railing to start making his way down the stairs to greet his brother, beckoning Miss Fishwick to come with him, who followed obediently, her eyes on the older McCartney brother.

"As pleasant as a couple of days' journey in a carriage can be," Paul replied with a smile directed at them both and began to take off his hat and coat, which he handed to one of the servants who came over to assist him. As soon as his hands were free, he was pulled into a hug by his brother, causing a nervous chuckle to escape his throat from surprise. His brother's next words did little to calm him down, sadly, his stomach churning at the prospect of having to see his father, never mind the news that the Ashers were coming no later than tomorrow. John was the only word that echoed in his mind.

"I hope you have enjoyed yourself at least. And before I forget, father wanted to speak with you as soon as you got home. He is in his study, I believe. I assume you heard the news about the Ashers? They will arrive tomorrow," Mike said as he released him, repeating those exact words that kept haunting his thoughts, and Paul nodded to tell him that he already knew as he kissed Miss Fishwick's hand to greet her as well, more to make sure he did not have to speak, than to be polite. He forced himself to smile when Miss Fishwick congratulated him on his engagement.

"I didn't even know you were engaged, sir. Before Mike told me the Ashers were coming tomorrow, I mean. Naturally, I would have congratulated you before if I had," she said, raising an eyebrow in surprise when Paul shook his head at her words and told her not to be silly.

"What my brother means, darling," Mike quickly explained, noticing her surprise, "the match was agreed upon years ago under reservation. Nothing is official yet, though most did not think the marriage would not pull through, and they seem now to have been right."

"Oh, I see. Well, she is a lovely woman, Miss Asher. I am sure she will make you very happy. Very beautiful, she is, and accomplished, of course," Miss Fishwick said and Paul forced another smile at the praise, before he excused himself, saying he should probably not keep their father waiting any longer if he is so eager to see him, and - to his relief - Miss Fishwick and Mike nodded in understanding. They wished him goodnight before leaving him, and Miss Fishwick was quick to add some more praises on Miss Asher's behalf, which Paul knew was well intended, but did not make him feel any better. Once he was certain he was alone again, he took a deep breath to force his body to calm down, and quickly fixed his appearance before he started making his way towards his father's study.

***

As expected, Paul found his father where his brother had told him he would be, sitting behind his desk, writing what appeared to be letters with a single gaslight burning on the wall beside him, illuminating him in a faint shimmer of orange light that caused the smile that appeared on his face as he looked up to see his eldest son stepping inside the study, to appear more disconcerting than it was presumably meant.

"You're home! I'm so glad you are. I hope your trip was pleasant?" he asked as he offered his son a seat, his voice too cheery for Paul's liking, but he took the invitation anyway, feeling glad to be able to sit down for a moment. Before he had even had the time to answer his father, the latter had already poured him a glass of whiskey, which he slid towards him over the desk. "We have something to celebrate tonight," Jim continued as he caught his son staring questioningly at the glass.

"Something to celebrate? I thought you said I had three months to find myself a wife before it would come to this?" Paul asked, looking up at his father in surprise, who sighed deeply as he put the bottle of whiskey, which he had been using to pour himself a glass as well, back down. He considered his son for a moment, before he spoke.

"In truth, Paul, this was not my idea. You know I want you to marry someone you actually care about, and though I know how fond you and Miss Asher are of one another, I also know she is not the woman you would want to marry-"

"I would not marry any woman, if it was up to me," Paul muttered softly, though audible enough for his father to hear. He, however, chose to ignore his words, and merely glanced up into his eyes for a moment with a warning look, before he continued. Paul was unsure whether he was relieved or disappointed.

"-but she is a very accomplished, not to mention beautiful, young lady, who would make a good wife, and when her father wrote me concerning your engagement-"

"We are not yet engaged," Paul protested again, and again, his words were ignored.

"-I could not decline him. He wishes for you to marry Jane sooner rather than later. I asked him to postpone for three months, but he is set on it, Paul. I know I told you three months, but... we both know you will choose for Miss Asher eventually," his father finally finished and Paul picked up his glass to take a sip, unsure what to say in return, as he knew his father was right. If there was one woman he would marry, it was Jane. She was beautiful, smart, creative, free-spirited, kind, not to mention the fact that they had been friends since he had been about nine years old and she five; their mothers had been close acquaintances and Jane has often frequented the McCartney manor before Mary McCartney had passed away, and in those early years they had grown close. She knew him better than anyone and to a certain extent he did love her, but to marry her... that was a different question.

"You know that under normal circumstances I would keep my word. I want you to be happy." Then don't make me marry someone I don't love - Paul thought, but he bit his tongue, knowing very well how quick his father's emotional state could change, and in his mind, marrying him off to some well-off girl was the best for him, for the family, for the estate. He swallowed the lump that had been gathering in his throat and nodded. Besides, his father was right, he would have chosen for her eventually, and she would have chosen him.

"I know, father. I will marry her. You are right, she is the one I would have chosen anyway, putting it off won't do any good," he said, forcing the corners of his lips to curl up in a smile, and he let out an actual nervous chuckle as his father reached out for him and slapped him encouragingly on the shoulder.

"You're a good son, Paul. I am proud of you, you know that, don't you? I know I don't always show it, but I do. I just want the best for you," he said and Paul nodded again but didn't speak. Instead, he reached out for his glass of whiskey again and raised it for the celebratory toast his father had hinted at at the beginning of their conversation. Jim raised his glass at well and smiled at his son, before they toasted in silence and took a sip of their drink.

Paul could barely think for the remainder of the conversation, his mind working hard to process what impactful changes were now drawing near: an engagement, a wedding, a wife, a couple of children, the last of which he minded the least. He had always wanted to have children, a family, even when he had been young, a couple of kids running around the house, screaming and laughing and playing and being happy and carefree, playing games with them, learning them new things and reading to them before they would go to bed at night, only to climb into his bed a few hours later out of fear of some nightmare they had been having. Even waking up every hour to look after a baby did not scare him off, and he could not wait to see his child make their first steps, or say their first words, and then to see them grow up to be beautiful and accomplished young ladies, or handsome and intelligent young men. Even the concept of a wife did not offend him, someone who would care for him, look after him, and who he could grow old and happy with, someone to share his entire life with and raise those kids, and simply love each other... But Jane was not the person he wanted that with. She could not be that person for him, no matter how lovely she was, for she was simply not the one for him.

He pondered about this as his father told him about the plans for the engagement: it was to last about seven months, and the announcement would be made during a ball that was to be held at the manor itself in a few weeks' time, after which Jane's family would stay at the manor for another week or two longer, before they would leave, and Jane would stay behind. The wedding then, would take place in late Spring at the church in Liverpool, after which a honeymoon was to be expected. To where, they could decide for themselves, though there have already been people making suggestions that were worth looking into. Paul hummed something agreeable at every question that his father directed at him, until even his father seemed to come to the conclusion that discussing this now had no point. In the end, he sighed and told Paul to go to bed, for Miss Asher and her family - a very high class family, who had ties even to the royal family - would arrive the following day and Jim expected Paul to be at his best behaviour. Paul nodded in understanding and wished him a good night as well, before he took his leave and went up to his bedroom, which had been well prepared for him, with his bed being freshly made, the curtains drawn, and a fire roaring in the fireplace.

He locked the door behind him and lit one of the candles that stood by the bed, before undressing and slipping into his sleeping attire that had been hung over the back of his desk chair by one of the servants, and sat down on the small sofa that was placed before the fire, curling up his legs under his bum. He felt exhausted. His muscles hurt even when he did not move, and he felt his eyelids grow heavy, but he fought to keep them open as he stared into the fire. His mind was in a haze, memories and thoughts mixing and sliding over each other, until reality itself became blurred and one last thought remained: John.

The expression on John's face when he had asked him about their future - the event itself seeming to have happened years ago rather than four days - floated before his eyes; worry, anxiety, hope, and finally happiness when Paul had agreed to continuing their affair... all that was now for nothing. Paul was going to marry Jane Asher, a proper English girl from a well-off family with connections to the royal family, which meant the end for them. He didn't dare to think how John was going to react to that news. He didn't even dare think how he was going to tell him in the first place. But he had no choice. It was his father's wish, it was Jane's father's wish, it was his duty, and he had no choice.

Sighing, he looked down at the silver bracelet that encircled his right wrist, the green stones shining in the warm light of the fire, and he gently traced them all with his fingertips, his mind drifting off to the moment John had given it to him - what it different world it now seemed. He turned his wrist, exposing the lock of the bracelet, and started to fiddle with it, moving it into different directions and picking urgently at the different parts until it came free. He removed it completely and studied the bracelet carefully in the light of the fire for a moment, before he got up from the sofa with a groan and shuffled over to his bedside table, where he carefully put the bracelet away in the drawer, keeping it safely stored away. He reasoned it was for the best, and crawled into bed, where, not even five seconds later, he was carried off to restless dreams that barely let him rest.

A/N: I'm sorry for the lack of a chapter last week. I didn't manage to finish this on time, and I really want to get back on a more fixed schedule, so I decided to take my time and post it now. The chapter is slightly shorter than the last couple of chapters, but longer than I had initially thought. Anyway, thanks again for all the support on this fic and I hope you've enjoyed the chapter!